


just wait

by flower_syndrome



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I’m sorry, M/M, Pastel!Jeremy, Slow Burn, boyf riends - Freeform, golly gosh prepare yourself lads, like really really slow burn, oh boy, supportive michael is the backbone of this nation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 66,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flower_syndrome/pseuds/flower_syndrome
Summary: Michael and a series of bad decisions, each worse than the last, have caused a chain of events where he now has an unsolicited boyfriend that he in no way intended to have. This situation can be easily solved, obviously. Michael, however, supreme moron, decides to take the dumbass route.





	1. Somebody Once Told Me The World Was Gonna Kill Me

**Author's Note:**

> spoiler alert: every single chapter is going to have the meme-iest title i can think of, i am not responsible for any second hand embarrassment caused

**michael's pov**

When I walked into the school, everything was decorated with blue ribbons and streamers, and lots of chatter around me concerning "Father's Day" which really confused my 10-year-old mind at the time.  

  I thought this would be a one-off thing. Things would be blue, people would yap about it for a minute, and then it'd vanish from the face of the earth.  

  However, when I got into class, there was even more talk of it. The teacher announced that for Father's day, I had to write a note to "my dad" thanking him or something along those lines. I didn't really get the memo.  

  This, however, didn't make much sense to me. I just decided to wait it out as she demonstrated, and maybe then I'd get it.   However, as the teacher explained, I got even more confused. You know when you snoop around in your parents' stuff and you find an email from their taxpayers and it sounds like they're just completely beating the shit out of the thesaurus to sound smart, but it fails miserably, because when you put all the big words together it just sounds like an unintelligible mess? Because, yeah. That's exactly what this assignment sounded like.

  "Okay! That's it, any questions?" She smiled.

  I put my hand up, hoping that my confusion at least had a straight forward answer, "But what if you don't have a dad?"

  The teacher's face turned sympathetic, "Awh, no, don't worry Michael, you can talk about what he was like before he left if you want!" The kid next to me patted my back in a ' _I'm trying to be reassuring but failing miserably because that pat was maybe a bit too aggressive_ ' way. I shoved his hand off, because I wasn't sad, just confused.

  "No, no, I don't have a dad," I say again, "I have two moms."

  A silence spread across the classroom.

  The teacher smiled, "Oh, sorry, sorry, I should've known," she grit her teeth, knowing that she just completely humiliated me, the entire class trying to whisper about said situation as quietly as possible, but ended up just being super suspicious. My 10-year-old brain fortunately didn't seem to notice.

  "You can write about one of your moms, or both of them, do what you want as long as it sticks to the subject!"

  I nod slowly, not seeing why this wasn't common knowledge. Yes, I knew a lot of people had a mom and a dad, and some people had two dads, and here I was, I had two moms. I can't be the only one right? I knew having a mom and a dad were common, but I didn't think it was "the norm."

  I mean, the teacher assumed that I had a dad that left before she even considered that I have two mothers.

  There had to be at least one kid in the class with parents like that, right? Or did the school just assume that everyone had one, and no more than one dad? I felt like scrunching up my paper and eating it. This was a new realization to me.

  Come to think of it, no one's ever really talked about having two moms before. As I stared down at my paper, I was left with a void in my stomach.

  Why don't I have a dad? Is a dad superior? Have I been missing out on special dad antics all because I have two moms?

  I couldn't seem to vomit out any words, which is ridiculous when I look back at it. I mean, I had not one, but two people I could write about! That's double the usual material! And my moms were great, man, they were amazing.

  I could write two books on them alone.

  So the excuse that I had nothing to write about was a lie. However, the excuse that I was just a lazy ass was a lie too, I liked writing essays.

  Ugh.

  Why am I getting so worked up over this?

  I've never really been a perfect cookie-cutter kid, and I don't need to be.

  Hell, kids in 4th grade pride themselves on being weird.

  Something about this doesn't seem right though.

  The way everyone started whispering when I announced I had two moms didn't sit right in my stomach.

  I just zoned out and started writing. I couldn't even get to paragraph three when the bell rang. I sighed. The kid who did the aggressive " _reassuring_ " pat movement, which I'm pretty sure left a bruise, ticked me, a bit less aggressive than the back pat, but it hurt nonetheless.

  "Hey, meet me in the 7th grade square, okay?" My eyes widened, "We're not allowed to be there, that's for the older kids."

  "Exactly, no one will be able to see us there. 13-year-olds have different recess times than we do." I wanted to protest, saying that _you fucking idiot someone's gonna catch us and no matter how cool my moms are, they're not going to be okay with signing my detention slip_.

  However, I did not say this. My current 17-year-old self would say this in a heartbeat, but this was self-conscious 10-year-old me. Here are some reasons why saying this would most likely fuck up any potential friendship with this aggressively reassuring back pat kid:

  **1\. People don't like it when I swear.** Mom taught me a new swear word once, and I loved it. I used it constantly, but that was until Mama heard me saying it, telling me it was vulgar. Mom was as much of a kid as I was, so she was just as bummed out. However, I realized that I didn't know if I could trust this kid. His aggressive back pats were tell-tale that he was super shady. Who knows what could happen if I said fuck in front of him? He'd probably tell on me!

  **2\. He probably had some philosophy.** Heck, who knows. Maybe this kid can teach me something. He looks like one of those people you'd probably give 50 cents to for some advice. As shady as he was, he may be a drug dealer with morals. Mama would insist that that's an oxymoron, I, however, being too young to know what that word means, didn't care.

  Back then having detention once was being treated like a criminal record.

  You had detention once? People would look down if you made eye contact with them. People would walk a bit faster if you were behind them. People would pull their friends closer if you walked past, as if to protect them.  

  As far as my history with detention goes, I have a clean slate. I intend to keep it that way.

  However, my dumb ass was still too garbled up into my thoughts that I let out a weak: "Okay..."  

  All I knew about aggressive back pat guy is that his name is Rick or something. I couldn't quite remember. I knew that he was jacked though, which probably explains why the hell his back pats were so aggressive. Also, yes, seven years went by and I'm still angry at the aggressiveness of that one particular back pat. Give me a break.  

  All I could do was hope that Rick would not kill me, and instead we'd have a friendly talk about roses, or knowing Rick, guns. Like mama would say, "A friendly talk about guns is an oxymoron!" I still don't know what it means, though, but thanks for the effort, mama.  

  Wait, does that mean... I'm an oxy _ **moron**_?

  Holy shit.  

  I stared down at my desk contemplating this for a second.  

  Whatever, I'll sort out my complete misinformation about the English language after I talk to Rick.


	2. A Burger With A Side Of Emotional Trauma

  When I did reach the 7th grade square, I was relieved to see that no one, other than Rick himself was there.  

  However, I was very panicked to see that when I walked by our cubbies we had up in class, I realized that his name was not Rick, but indeed Rich, and that my internal monologue was wrong. He also had a weird long surname that I could neither spell, pronounce nor remember.  

  This gave me a weird sense of existential dread. How many others names am I getting wrong?  

  I shook it off when I saw Rich Giraffesand or whatever his last name was, stand there in all his buff glory.  

  **Q** : How was a 10-year-old jacked?

  **A** : I don't remember. It was 7 years ago. Leave me alone.  

  I approached Rich Gryffindor, and he eyed me up and down. In that moment, the fear that he was going to beat me up seemed to grow exponentially. However, the soft look in his eyes was a complete contrast from his otherwise intimidating exterior.  

  Maybe Rich Gurblesnurr wasn't too bad.

  "Hey kid," he said, sympathy dripping in his voice.  

  Being in the grade 7 square gave me a weird sense of power. Not too much power though. Let me demonstrate:

  Enough power to think: 'Fuck you, we're the same age. Don't call me kid,'  

  However, not enough power to actually say it out loud. So that thought was thrown into the inferno along with all my other stupid thoughts, which I sadly realized ended up being over half of them.  

  "So, about your moms, I think it's great!" He smiles this big toothy grin and he has braces, and his teeth are a bit bigger than average, and his whole tough guy person completely melts away.  A wave of relief washes over me. He's actually kinda cute.  

  "Some people don't though," he says morosely, clenching his teeth awkwardly, "So because of your moms, people are going to assume you're gay. I'm super accepting if you are, hell, you might even not be, I don't know. Some people might not be as accepting though, so you have to keep it to yourself until you're older."  

  This was a lot of information to take in at once. So instead of responding, I stood there like an idiot. I realized that I had to say something eventually, so in my mind, I crafted a complex sentence, proposing a million most likely unanswerable questions, that would certainly leave Rich Gangbang dumbfounded at how amazing I articulated my true emotions— Well, that was the plan. Instead I, a dumbass, stood there with his mouth gaping open and said: "Gay?" I'm a fucking genius.  

  "A guy likes guys or a girl likes a girl."  

  "So people don't like it when you're gay?"  

  "No."  

  "What if I'm gay?" I ask.

  It never really crossed my mind, but I did find guys more attractive than I did girls. Like hey, maybe 10-year-old Rich Galactoid was not jacked, but my gay mind was just so overwhelmed by the little amount of muscle he _did_ have that my hormones blew it out of proportion. Hell, I even called Rich cute a moment ago, didn't I? I couldn't see myself dating him though.

  Maybe this whole gay thing is out of the window. I mean, yeah, sure, guys are cute, I don't particularly think girls are conventionally attractive, but I couldn't see myself dating a dude, so this might just be a weird phase. Or I'm just too young to be feeling romantic attraction. Who knows?  

  ...Or maybe the girls in my class are just not specifically attractive, I'll never know. I feel like this is a problem for another day, but there's always that 75% chance that I will be gay, so I need to prepare for something like that.  

  "If you're gay, you're going to get bullied, and people will push you and break your glasses, and they look expensive."

  "They were," I agreed solemnly, "Okay, what do I do then? I don't want people to harass me."  

  "It's simple. Do what Chloe and I did," he announced, like the Richloe was a popular technique, used by ever homosexual out there, and _how dare I not know what he's talking about._  

  "I'm not following," I admit.  

  "Chloe's gay as well, I think she called it lesbian or something, she likes girls."  

  "Aren't you two dating though?"  

  "Yeah, I'm her 'cover-up,' I don't love her, she doesn't love me, but we're good friends. I agreed to be her fake boyfriend so that people would think she's straight and she wouldn't get bullied."  

  "So... you're telling me I need to befriend a girl... like... befriend a girl so good that she'd not only accept the fact that I'm gay, but also be willing to be my cover-up?" I asked unsurely. Like I said, my 10-year-old brain couldn't piece shit together. Luckily Rich Gatekeeper was patient with me.  

  "Well, the idea that you're going to meet another girl like that is unlikely, so just ask a girl out. Any girl. Just make sure you'll know she'll say yes," Rich said.  

  "But... that'd be mean. I don't actually love her, and if she says yes, that means she loves me, I'd just be hurting her feelings."  

  "Hey dude, in the long run," he placed a hand on my shoulder, "Put yourself before others."

  That goes completely against what my moms taught me so I opened my mouth to argue, but he'd already walked off.  

  "I have to get back to the 4th grade square, seeya 'round, kid," he spins around to salute me, and runs off.

  I scowl, also slowly making my way to our designated square before I got in trouble.  

  A girl in our class that I could date? Uh...

  I went through all the girls in our class mentally.  

  **Chloe**? No. She likes girls.  

  **Brooke**? Brooke was very much out of my league. A lot of the boys in my class like her. She would not say yes if I asked her.  

  **Kimberly**? Same as Brooke.  

  Steph? She's really scary and dating her meant I'd have to deal with associating with her, and I feel like that would ultimately be the cause of my impending doom.

  And like that, I went through all the girls in my class, and none of them really seemed to stick. I was sitting on a bench, thinking of whether or not I missed someone.  

  And then I remember.  

  There's a girl that sits behind me, and I don't even really know what her name is.  

  **Girl that sits behind me™:**

  **Cons** :

  •I have no idea what she looks like. She keeps her head down.  

  •I don't know what her voice sounds like. I asked her for a pencil and she silently handed it to me, without even slightly turning her head upwards.  

  •I don't know her fucking name. 10-year-old me was a huge dumbass.  

  **Pros** :  

  •Dating her would not come with any bad stigma, I don't think anyone else knows what her name is ether, anyway.

  •All I've seen so far is her hair, and it looks really fluffy.  

  •She was colouring a picture of Luigi yesterday.  

  •She's shy, and if I asked her out she would probably get super flustered and end up accidentally saying yes.   So I put my plan into action.


	3. Uh Oh

  Recess hadn't quite ended yet, but the kids were taking chances and staying outside for way longer than they were supposed to. The teacher probably wouldn't arrive for ten more minutes.

  However, I did not take the risk. I had already hung out in the incorrect square. That's enough delinquency for one day.

  As I entered the classroom, the girl that sat behind me™ was already in the class. I realized that she never leaved for recess. I frowned slightly. Was she sad? I knew she was shy, but recess was the only good part of the school day!

  I didn't want my potential girlfriend to be sad. I mean, it's not like I actually like like her or anything, but I guess I still care about her. There was a silent emotional connection when I saw her colouring that picture of Pacman.

  Man, I shouldn't assume. Maybe she just doesn't like to be outside. I guess she liked drawing inside more.

  I sat down in my seat, looking back at her.

  "H-hey, can I ask you something?" I said slightly, staring down at my shoes. In the corner of her eyes I saw her nod, and it was the first time her face wasn't obscured with her hair, yet I didn't dare look. Making eye contact was going to make me vomit everywhere. For all I know, she could have very high standards, and seeing the disgusted look on her face would just ruin my already fragile confidence.

  Little did I know that looking at her could've saved me a lot of trouble.

  "Uh, we haven't really talked... before... and I t-totally get that you're k-kinda shy," The feeling of throwing up returns. I'm still trying to be respectful, considering I'm practically using her. "You c-can say no, I-I get it," I take a deep breath, "ButIthinkyou'rekindacutedoyouwannahangoutsometime?" 

  Damn, if asking someone out I don't even know is going to be that hard, how hard is it going to be ask someone out when I actually like them?

  I made eye contact with the girl that sat behind me™ for the first time ever... and I suddenly realize...

  Oh my fucking god, that's not a girl.

  It's a guy.

  And a bloody cute one at that.

  "I-I... uhhh..." he stuttered out awkwardly, his whole face red.

  Oh my god, I wanted to ask a girl out to trick people into thinking I'm straight, but I asked a guy out, fuckfuckfuck.

This is literally the opposite of what I wanted to happen.

  "Uh... o-okay sure," he said, softly, his statement ending with a small smile. His voice was so gentle and soft-spoken that I could barely hear it.

And he said yes? Wow. That's just a bunch of acid on the already flaming building. I accidentally asked a cute gay guy out. 

  I freeze, thinking I am such an idiot I am such an idiot I am such an idiot. I can't just say:  'You've been bamboozled! You're on an episode of #Prankd! The camera's right there, bro!'

  He'll probably cry. He looks really sensitive.

  Man, people only had speculation that I was gay before, now I have a fucking boyfriend. An unsolicited boyfriend that I in no way intended to have. A boyfriend that I know literally nothing about. A boyfriend that I thought was a girl up until a minute ago! 

Like I said, people had speculation. That's it. I shouldn't have listened to aggressively reassuring back pat Rich Qoragsklalsshiq! He's completely fucked me over! What was I thinking? I could've just denied the rumours. I have a boyfriend. And yeah, it felt nice saying that, but I'm pretty sure it won't sound nice to the rest of the school. People will have no doubts I'm gay now. Fuckfuckfuck.

  "Uh, wh-why?" He finally spoke up again. His voice was so quiet that I had to lean in to hear him. Okay, Michael, just make up some smooth lie. I look down at the desk, trying to think of something, and I see his name tag right there: "Jeremy Heere."

  If I just looked at that, this whole situation could've been avoided. 

In the three seconds I regretfully stared down at his name tag, I fabricated a semi-believable lie.

  "Well, uh, I... I just think you're cute?" My semi-believable lie ended up coming out like a murderer trying to come up with an alibi on the spot, but luckily Jeremy seemed to be oblivious.

  "Y-You're not making a joke?" It took me a moment to register what he said, goddamnit his voice is quiet, "Y-You're not just making fun of me?"

  I mean, I should've just said yes. It would've saved me three years of my life.

  Yeah. This went on for three years. We'll get to that later.

  "No! Not at all," I said in fake disbelief. He bought it though.

  "Y-you like guys too?" He stuttered out softly, losing complete interest in his drawing. I took note of the "too" in that sentence.

I nod awkwardly. God, I can't believe I fucked up so hard.

And we talked for the rest of the day, and honestly, here's the truth:

I could've done worse.

He was nice to talk to, even. But this isn't what I wanted. Rich said people are gonna harass me for being gay, and equally they'd probably harass Jeremy. He doesn't deserve to be dragged into this.

However, I enjoyed the moment while it lasted, knowing that I'd have to break it off with Jeremy at some point, but I was going to allow it for a while.

One thing about Jeremy: I'm really good at making him laugh. I'll just say the first thing that comes to mind, and he'll think it's hilarious. I always asked him for some stories, but he always said the same thing: "I like to listen more than I like talking."

  When he does talk though, it's nice. He gives me some weird dolphin fact or he says something that's kinda adorable, but that doesn't mean I like him or anything. I didn't even mean to ask him out. There's no attraction involved.

And we ended up walking down the hallways while holding hands, and it was nice to sit with him during recess, it really was. Everyone took note of that.

And the truth was no-one gave us dirty looks in the halls. Middleborough ended up being accepting, which was surprising. People would even come up and congratulate us. People would shoot us smiles. People were accepting.

However, the talk Rich gave me was seriously drilled into my head. So much to the point that if I saw someone laughing about transformers or something, my dumbass 10-year-old self would assume that they were laughing at Jeremy and I. 

And it was unfair on Jeremy, it really was. Because our "relationship" was built off of nothing but lies. And he genuinely loved me. And I thought I didn't love him.

I remember around the time we both turned 13, we were hanging out at my house. My parents were super proud that I got a "boyfriend" if you can even call him that.

  We were having a sleepover, and we were just kinda laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and I told him a bunch of random stories, which of course, in the typical Jeremy Heere way, laughed at every single of them. However, his laughs seemed a bit more strained and just all around sadder than usual.

  And then he said something that planted the idea into my mind that I needed to stop.

I remember his words vividly: "I'm just kinda scared you don't love me as much as I love you." Followed by an awkward laugh.

And that churned my stomach in ways that I didn't know it could.

And that was the event that set it off: This needs to stop.


	4. The Stupidest Thing I’ve Ever Done On This Bitch Of An Earth

I had to stop.

  So I did it in the worst way possible.

  I didn't want to keep the break-up private, the whole reason I was breaking up with him in the first place was because I needed the public to think I wasn't gay. And I needed to not drag Jeremy into a situation where his relationship with me is just a massive lie. Even when he doesn't know it.

  Of course, if I were to go back and do it now, the easiest way to do it was to break up with him privately, let him off easily, continue to be his friend, and then tell a few people that are known for gossiping, and wait until it spreads across the school.

  See, that's the smart thing to do.

  Little 13-year-old me did think of this idea, but for some unthinkable reason thought straight afterward: "Hey, what if I pull a MASSIVE dick move instead and just completely ruin the guy's life?"

And that's just what I did.

Fuck, I don't even remember what was going through my mind. We sat at our usual place, and it's not like the 7th grade square was big, it was even smaller than the 4th grade one, and that was already pretty tiny. So people were pretty tight.

Meaning basically that most people talked in a low voice so people couldn't eavesdrop. If you raised your voice by even a few decibels, people on the opposite side of the square would be able to hear you.

So that's what I did.

I sat down on the bench, having my normal conversations with Jeremy, him laughing throughout and keeping a tight grip on my hand. I stared down at our interlocked fingers for a sad second, and thought: 'maybe I can pretend for a little longer,' but I quickly dismissed my own thoughts. This is happening today.

  I'll spare you the details, but to boil it down, I ended up starting a petty argument with him out of nowhere, which wasn't his fault and ended breaking up with him like that. It wasn't an actual argument, I just made one up out of the blue, raised my voice so everyone would hear the break-up, and then left.

  Needless to say, Jeremy was confused through the most of it. We never argued, let alone something I just pulled out of nowhere. He kept whispering (at least I thought he was whispering, but he insists that whispering is just his normal speaking tone) for me to keep my voice down so that we could 'talk it out.' I, however, just raised my voice even higher, making sure everyone could hear that that was indeed the end of our relationship.

  And I felt kinda bad, because after Jeremy started hanging with me he did become more confident, but after what I like to call The Great Incident of 2013, he went back to his old state. Never lifting up his head, just drawing all day and not going out for recess.

  And the worst part is that everyone comforted me, even though I wasn't the one really hurting over this. Chloe ended up giving me a talk, saying that 'i am so ashamed,' and 'i can't believe you tried to make this a public thing.'

  Chloe came out as lesbian after she saw that Jeremy and I were well received, so I ended up spilling all of it to her the day she came out. Telling her how it was all lies. Telling her how I thought I was asking a girl out. 

And she told me that I just had to just wait. She told me I had to just wait until it all made sense. Just wait until I realized why I broke up with him in the first place. And I didn't know what she meant.

  I know what she means now.

  But we'll talk about that later.

Remember that paragraph. It'll be important later on.

  So telling her I had to break it off with Jeremy, she also suggested I do it lightheartedly, but my dumbass decided to do something completely different. Of course, she was disappointed, I knew she'd be, but it was what seemed best at the time.

  People ended up giving Jeremy a hard time for it, which kinda upset me, it wasn't his fault, but hey, it's only 7th grade. After a year he'll be in high-school, right? People will forget about it and move on.

  Sadly, it ended up following him well into high-school, according to Chloe at least, we ended up going to different schools so I admittedly didn't have much contact with him.And I guess that was a good thing, no awkward stares or guilty stomach churns.

  It was over.

  I ended it.

But I did kinda miss it. I guess there was no real love there, but I loved talking to Jeremy. I loved making him laugh. If I didn't break up with him in such a shitty way, then maybe we could've stayed friends.

And you're probably thinking: "Oh! But Michael! This is a book! Books always have happy endings! Therefore, somehow, for no real reason, Jeremy will come to your school, you'll talk, and you'll fall hopelessly in love!"

Yeah, no. This chapter is titled: "The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done Ever On This Bitch Of An Earth" for a reason. Not gonna happen.

Besides, I don't even think Jeremy would want to talk to me, y'know, considering. Chloe would always give me shit for it and say how Jeremy can barely speak at school anymore, but my theory is that she's trying to make me feel guilty

He could barely speak in the first place, no actions I made could possibly make that worse, right? Unless I socked him in the vocal chords, which, to my knowledge, I did not.

He was always quiet, he always had a stutter, he was always soft-spoken, I had nothing to do with that. It was just Jeremy.

And it's not like I even care about whatever happens to the kid anymore. I just wanted him out of my dating life, and now he is. Did I want him out of my friendship life too? Not particularly, but he is. I can't say more, I can't say less.

And yeah, I felt guilty for a bit, but not for long. Jeremy's well-being is none of my concern anymore anyway. I shouldn't beat myself up over a kid who probably hates me now.

And besides, I didn't need to get another "girlfriend." After realizing people were pretty accepting of gay people in Middleborough, I just came out.

So I just moved on with my life.


	5. Uh Oh pt.2

  This entire book can be summed up with "uh oh" but this is _by far_ the biggest uh oh.

  Honestly, after reading the last chapter you're probably left empty. Something along the lines of: "Oh Michael, how could you be so heartless?" Don't act like you wouldn't have done the same. I had no better option. Could the situation have been handled better? Yeah, sure. But it wasn't. No use crying over spilt milk.

  However, trust me, if you're left feeling empty from the last chapter, then this one will sock you in the throat, I assure you.

  My moms knew about Jeremy of course, but I never told them about the whole break-up thing. Well. They knew Jeremy and I broke it off obviously, but I never told them how it was broken off. They'd probably be just as mad as Chloe, and three Chloe's was the last thing I needed.

  So four years passed and it was almost Christmas. We weren't a Christian family or anything, we were all agnostic, but we celebrated Christmas anyway, because presents.

I was sitting in my room on Christmas Eve, scrolling through possible gift ideas on my laptop, and yeah, it was Christmas Eve and I still didn't have some of the gifts for a handful of my friends, which just shows how good I am at timing.

Mama walked in through the door, without knocking, which was weird. Mom usually didn't knock, but Mama always did, so I instantly knew something was off.

She stood there in the doorway for what seemed like hours, just smiling at me. Finally, she walked a bit closer. She had the typical sympathetic 'I'm about to say something that's going to ruin your life' expression. She put a hand on my cheek: "Oh, Michael..."

"Yeah, Mama?"

"Oh, Michaelmichaelmichaelmichael—"

I rolled my eyes thinking: ' _Just ruin my day and leave._ ' "What is it?"

Little did I know, that this wasn't just a little thing that was going to ruin my day, instead it was something that I thought was long forgotten.

"You remember Jeremy?"

Everything about me turned stiff. I almost threw my laptop out the window. I slammed my laptop down unexpectedly out of pure shock.

"Well, uh, his dad called and..."

"And?"

"Jeremy has cancer, Michael."

And I instantly want to vomit. I want to just pretend to be dead for five minutes so that mama can leave, call emergency services, and then funeral services will bury me alive, because this is honestly the last thing I wanted to deal with.

"And?" I tried to sound calm, but it was obvious I was panicking. Mama didn't seem to notice though.

"What do you mean and? You loved Jeremy for three years!"

I wince. I wanted to just give in and tell her everything about how it was all a big lie, but I don't feel like I should unload that on her right now.

"We don't talk anymore, though."

She sighs, "Michael," by the way she says my name you can tell she's going to give me a lecture, "Jeremy doesn't have anyone at the moment. The only friend he has is that Chloe girl that you talk about sometimes, and by the way you talk about her Chloe doesn’t seem the best with emotional support."

I nodded solemnly.

"I just want you to go visit him, that's all! Nothing more, nothing less, he really needs someone right now," she pat me on the back, which was so Mom-like and so unMama-like that I almost had a stroke.

"But—"

"If you don't visit him, he'll be all alone for Christmas," she pouted.

"Jeremy's Jewish."

"Please, if not for Jeremy, do it for me?"

I looked at her, and her eyes are pleading, and man she's done so much for me, maybe I can do this one thing.

  "What kind of cancer does he have?"

  "Esophageal cancer."

  My lips formed a straight line

"Okay."

"Great!" She kissed me on the cheek, "That's great, honey! You can leave when you want!"

"Wai—"

"Bye sweetie!" She waved, out of the door quicker than you can say: 'oh my god I've made a mistake.'

So now I'm sitting on the bed, having a near aneurysm, because holy fuck what do I do?

The last thing I want to do was talk to Jeremy right now. The guy I probably completely destroyed the life of in 7th grade. I can't face him just like that. The last time we talked I made him cry.

  And he has cancer? Jesus Christ. I sat there for a minute trying to wrap it around my head.

  Jeremy Heere + Esophageal Cancer = ???

  I reluctantly took out my phone, looking up if that kind of cancer was lethal in any way, and I stumbled across a website which stated: "The 5-year survival rate of people with cancer located only in the esophagus is 43%. The 5-year survival rate for those with disease that has spread to surrounding tissues or organs and/or the regional lymph nodes is 23%. If it has spread to distant parts of the body, the survival rate is 5%."

  In other words: not good.

  Not a single one of those survival rates are past the 50% mark.

  Man.

  A brief timeline of Jeremy's life look a little something like this: Get born. Get called a loser daily. A glimmer of hope: a guy asks you out. Just kidding, the guy doesn't like you like that, you two break up. Now you have cancer. Great job.

I still feel like I’m going to vomit, but I made mama a promise, and the last thing I wanted to was make her all upset. I don’t even know where Jeremy lives for God sake.

I mean, maybe he’s still at his old place, but even then I only vaguely remember where exactly that was.

I make my way down the stairs, trying to see if maybe I can relocate mama and ask her if she could give me anything more than two sentences of information, but instead I saw mom cooking breakfast at the counter.

“Hey mom, you know where mom #2 is?” I ask, sitting down on the stool, and I can tell by the expression of my face she noticed that I was a bit off.

“What’s wrong sweetie?” She ruffled my hair with her hand, that was filled with flour, and I could only imagine how stupid my hair looked with a handprint of flour in it, but hey, what can you do?

“Did mama tell you about Jeremy?”

Her face turns sympathetic, “Yeah, his dad called, he’s been confiding in us a lot lately...”

“Do you remember where he lives?” I ask.

Her eyebrows furrow, “You’re going to go visit him? Why?”

“Well, I know he might be struggling and—”

“Dara’s forcing you, isn’t she?” She laughs. I roll my eyes playfully and nod. It makes me smile every time mom calls mama by her real name. Because of the fact that Mama hates it when people call her Dara, Mom uses it to its fullest capacity.

“Yeah.”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she pouts, putting one hand on her hip, “If it’s too big of a deal I can lie to Dara and say that you did go and then we can stay home and eat waffles.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I sigh, “I have some unsolved stuff with Jeremy I have to get out of the way anyway.”

She smiles, “Alright, Michael, but if you get halfway down the street and realize that waffles sound better than visiting Mr. Heere, then you can turn around anytime.”

“Yeah, yeah, speaking of halfway down the street, do you know where Jeremy lives?”

“Down Church street, second exit, their house is left from the roundabout,” she makes vague gestures with her wooden spoon, “Good luck, honey, be back before 11AM for breakfast!”

I nod unsurely, and when I walk through the door I call out a weak “goodbye” to mom, which I’m pretty sure she didn’t even hear. My brain was so stressed to the point that my expression didn’t even register it, and I just deadpanned anyone who I walked across.

And there it was. It scared me how close it was. All these years, I felt like I was miles away from Jeremy, and I felt like any contact or even association with him was completely cut off, but there he was, just down the street.

And I knock.

And I don’t get an answer.

And maybe if I was being rational in that moment, my brain would register that no one was there and then I’d turn around, go back to mom and we’d eat waffles. I’d never think about it again. I wouldn’t be feeling the guilt I feel right now.

But something in me urged to keep going, which led me to opening the door. My entire mind was screaming at me: “what the fuck are you doing” over and over again, but I kept going.

Something made me feel like I needed to hear from Jeremy again. Which was stupid, I should’ve turned back, the entire situation could’ve been avoided.

As I pushed open the door, I looked around, to see Mr. Heere asleep on the coach. I furrowed my brows. Okay, then. Whatever. I just need to be quiet, right?

I grit my teeth. I feel like I’m breaking into someone’s house, but I persisted nonetheless.

I remember something about Jeremy’s room being on the top floor, which door it was, I was completely oblivious to, but I was hoping that seeing the upper floor would jog some memories.

Sneaking past Mr. Heere and finally making it to the upper floor, there were about four doors, which made my shoulders slump, but my mood changed when I realized one of the rooms had a stupid flower sticker on it.

I feel my stomach flip. That’s the stupid flower sticker I gave him in 4th grade. He seriously still has it? Oh my god.

I don’t know what emotion I’m feeling.

You know that feeling when your friend is waiting for you at the bus stop, and without telling them, you decide to go on the train instead, so friend waits there for a few hours, realizing you aren’t going to show up and goes home, then you live the rest of the week with guilt thinking about the fact that you let your friend waiting.

Guilt?

Is that what I’m feeling?

I bite my lip. I’m not supposed to be feeling guilt for a kid I haven’t talked to in years. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.

Nonetheless, I persisted, opening the door with the stupid flower sticker on it, a million thoughts swarming my head.

But all of them came to a halt when I saw _him._

It was Jeremy.


	6. Finally I Can Be The Comedian I Dreamed To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow double update??1?1?1? YEAH im having real fun writing this so expect more lmao

And I don’t know what I was expecting.

 

Like I said, my knowledge on cancer was definitely limited, and I, for some reason, in my mind imagined me barging in on him being hooked up to a heart monitor or some shit. However, he was not. He was just sitting under some blankets on his bed.

 

He had all his hair, still as fluffy as it was when we were 13. He was skinnier than he probably should be, but he looked _fine_. _Healthy_ , even.

 

And the look on his face was horrified.

 

“M-Michael?” Holy shit, he recognizes me.

 

“Hey Jeremy...”

 

I bit my lip, regretting my decision already. I take a minute to look around, and everything is pastel in some way. His walls, his carpet, his clothing. I don’t know why I’m shocked, honestly. It’s just not what you’d expect from a cancer patient. Everything just looks so _happy_ , and he has some happy flowers on the window sill and he has some happy glow in the dark stars on his roof and he has a happy swivel chair—

 

However, the expression on his face was quite the opposite of happy.

 

I wouldn’t describe it as sadness... Just... shock?

 

“Oh my god...” he looks me up and down for a moment, “Oh my god, Michael.”

 

I almost laugh, because he actually hasn’t changed at all. He’s still the soft jumpy person I was friends with in 7th grade.

 

His voice, although not quite as quiet as it used to be, still had the gentle feeling that it always radiated.

 

  "Hi."

 

  "So."

 

“So.”

 

  "Uh, hey."

 

  "Hi," he waved at me slightly, giving me a nervous smile, but it was obvious he was just as uncomfortable as I was.

 

  I fidgeted around at my hoodie sleeve awkwardly.

 

  He spoke up again: "D-Did my dad tell you I was..." he hesitated, "Sick."

 

  "Actually, my mama did," I said awkwardly. Sick was a light way to put 'i have esophageal cancer.'

 

“Y-You can... sit down...” he gestures vaguely to his bed. I nod nervously and sat on the edge of his bed, facing him with my legs criss-crossed. This is a bit weird, isn’t it? Why isn’t he angry at me? I was a dick to him.

 

  "S-so,” he sighs, “you're here against your will?" He said, crossing his arms sadly.

 

  "No, no, no! I did actually want to talk to you, believe it or not," I said awkwardly. Yeah. Talking to the guy you broke up with in front of an entire school and completely humiliated doesn't really give me any brownie points here.

 

  He nodded, though it was obvious he wasn't buying it. And why should he? Because he was right, I don't want to be here right now. This is the last place I wanted to be.

 

  I take a minute to observe Jeremy's room. Everything's very pastel, like I said. He had flowers in every crook and cranny. The entire room radiated a gentle feeling. It was very... Jeremy.

 

  The room had lots of posters of broadway musicals, and one small area I noticed had a bisexual flag on it, so that definitely made me smile.

 

  "I see things haven't changed much," I gave him a lop-sided smile.

 

  "Y-you really don't have to be here, I-I know one of your moms are forcing y-you or whatever—"

 

  "Do you want me to leave because you don't want me here, or because you think I don't want to be here."

 

  "T-The seco-second one."

 

  "Gosh, oh boy howdy, do I wanna be here," I exaggerated, "Me and all seven of the hot pockets I shoved down my mouth hole 0.7 seconds before I drove here are really glad to see you."

 

  This made him giggle slightly. So making him laugh was still easy, just like when we were "dating."

 

Usually his laugh made me smile, but there was this underlying feeling of _you're going to die soon you're going to die soon you're going to die soon._

 

  I swallowed the thought down with a smile, "Really, dude. Tell me what's up," I sat down on his bed, facing him.

 

  His mouth formed a straight line, "W-well, y-yknow..." he scratched his neck awkwardly, "You can talk—I like listening."

 

  Things really haven't changed, have they?

 

"Well, uh, y-you should talk more, really, Jere. The past few years have been pretty boring for me, and I guess considering your life’s been pretty fun—I mean, uh, not that the whole cancer thing is fun, but like, uh...” I blank, “Y-You probably have a lot to say, and uh, y-your voice is prett—No, that sounds cre—Okay, ignore everything I just said: Point in case, you should talk more often, dude,” I ramble out a pathetic excuse of a reply.

 

He nodded, a smile on his face evident, but I could tell by how nervous he looked while he fidgeted around with his sleeves that he definitely wasn't going to be doing any talking.

 

"So, uh..." I scratched my neck nervously. I try to scrape up any knowledge I have of cancer in my brain, but the only thing I remembered are those shitty health classes we did in 3rd grade. Uh.. chemotherapy? That's a thing, right? "Chemotherapy? You gonna try that?"

 

His smile kinda wavers, "N-no... D-Doctor says I'm too young and I-I'm way too underweight so my bones wouldn't be able to sustain themselves after the chemicals mess with my body, i-it'll do more harm than good," he shrugs, "B-Besides, it's a bit too late now, I don't think it'd work anyway."

 

I didn't hear a word he said, considering it was all medical bullshit, but the only part of the sentence that I fully picked up on was: 'It's a bit too late now.'

 

I laughed awkwardly, "Uh, uhm," My leg jotted up and down, wondering if this was offensive, "'A bit too late?' What does that mean?"

 

There was a silence.

 

"Y-You think I'm gonna die, don't you?"

 

The air got ripped out of my lungs for a second. Because it's true. I do think he's going to die. Because he is, right? I mean, I did like a tiny bit of research of esophageal cancer before I got here and percentage wise it was one of the most deadly.

 

"U-uh, no, no! Why would I think that?" I gently placed a hand on his knee, "You're the strongest person I know, I know you can whoop cancer's ass."

 

I'm lying right through my gritted teeth. Jeremy's about the weakest person I know. I'd flick him against the arm and he'd get a bruise.

 

"Mhm, yeah, sure," He shrugged off my hand on his knee, crossing his arms, which is the international sign for 'you fucked up, you shitty ass-clown.'

 

"So if chemotherapy's out the window, uh..." I'm really having trouble maintaining eye contact here, this isn't necessarily the most ideal situation, "Any other... treatments?"

 

"For now they're going to try and see if esopha...esophagogas—" he lets in a sharp inhale, "esophagogastrectomy, sorry I can't pronounce that, we want to see if it'll fit my whole... y'know, state, I guess, but it's kinda unlikely."

 

I look at him, and I can see by his face he knows exactly what question I want to ask.

 

"No, I won't d-die."

 

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

 

  The image of Jeremy dying couldn't get out of my head, so I looked around trying to change the topic as quickly as I could, but I ended up just kinda acting like an asshole.

 

“Uh, okay, so I’m kinda dumb,” I admitted.

 

“Big mood,” Jeremy said out loud.

“But, like... isn’t cancer, supposed to... uh... y’know... uhm...” I cringe at myself. Is this an offensive question?

Jeremy tilted his head confused, “I-I’m not following...”

 

  I sighed, reaching over to him and ticking his head.

 

  He looked at me, confused, "Hair?”

 

  "Yeah...”

 

  "What about it?"

 

  "Well, uh," I realize that the question I had was moronic, but like I said beforehand, I'm a massive dumbass, so I said it anyways, "Isn’t it like a thing... that cancer patients... don’t have hair?”

 

I heard Jeremy let our a breathy laugh. Thank god he isn’t offended and instead is just laughing at how stupid I am.

 

“D-Does Middleborough seriously not teach y-you guys anything?” He says between giggles.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a dumbass, whoop dee doo, can I have an answer,” I smile along with him.

 

“You only lose hair if you do chemotherapy, which I’m not doing, so I get to keep my hair which is pretty rad.”

 

“Awh, man, you used the word rad,” I admired out loud, “Also, sorry for the stupid shitty question.”

 

  "No, it's cool, we all say, uh... stupid shit sometimes," he says, and it's obvious he's implying something by specifically emphasizing stupid shit and he's right, we really should be addressing the elephant in the room, however I was too flustered from accidentally being a mild asshole that I couldn't get any words out.

 

  "What did I do wrong?" Jeremy said suddenly. His smile was completely forced now.And it's so unlike his usual voice. Yeah, it was still quiet and soft-spoken, like usual, but I would always describe Jeremy's voice as smooth and gentle. This was so... croaky, and it felt like the syllables were cracking up.

 

  Then I registered what he said.

 

  "What? To get cancer? Uh, well, I don't think there's any real cause, unless you smoke, which you probably don't," I look up at him and his expression is confused, so that's obviously not what he meant, "Uh, well, maybe, uh... esophageal cancer runs in the family?"

 

  Jeremy sighed, sinking in on himself, staring down in his lap. His forced smile dropped. Okay, maybe that wasn't what he was talking about.

 

  "Why, Michael?"

 

  "Why what?"

 

  "Why did you break up with me?"


	7. This Chapter Confirms What We Already Know: I’m A Dumbass

  "Why did you break up with me?"

 

  My voice gets completely caught in my throat and my lungs give out and I almost choke on the sudden rise of misery in my chest and I feel like someone's took a massive burning knife and stuck it in my chest and is just twisting it around the longer and longer I stay quiet—

 

  Because it's the question I've been dreading my entire life. The question Chloe asked me, the question my moms asked, the question I asked myself.

 

  The question I never had an answer to.

 

  And my mind is racing miles a minute and the only thing that I can think of saying is absolutely offensively moronic.

 

  So, I, Michael Mell, supreme moron, took the dumbass route.

 

  "Woah. Haha, yeah, no! Let's not talk about that!" Was the only thing I managed to get out. I looked at Jeremy and he looked completely broken. It's like someone ripped all of the emotions out of him, said 'sorry' and then squeezed all of them back in, but they're all in the wrong places.

 

  I bit my lip, thinking of a way to follow up the terrible thing I just said: "Unless you feel like, uh... a crush feeling on me or something because in that case we might have to talk about it—"

 

  "No. I don't feel like that anymore."

 

  My heart just kinda tears in half when I hear "anymore."

 

  He speaks up again: "But... d-dating you gave me such an enormous self est-esteem boost, because I actually felt like maybe, somehow, some-someone actually liked me. And when you broke up with me it was obvious you never r-really did," his eyes got glassy, "I don't even think you wanted to be my friend, I-I j-just want to know why you asked me out if it was obvious you hated me from the start—"

 

  "Woah, hey! Did you know that hippopotamus milk is pink? Like isn't that so cool? Crazy!" I say quickly, trying to change the topic, but executing said action quite poorly.

 

  "Michael—"

 

  "Woah, well would you look at the time? It's getting real late, probably past your bedtime, mister," I ticked him on the nose and he just looked completely devoid of any positive emotion, staring at me confused.

 

  "It's only 2:30 and you've been here for fifteen minutes at most—"

 

  "Oh yeah, I'm really really tired. Anyways, yeah, have fun with the cancer and stuff! I mean, like, uh, not that you can really have fun with canc—YOU KNOW WHAT, I AM GOING TO LEAVE NOW, GOODBYE. I AM DEPARTING." I close my eyes before I can see Jeremy's probably sad expression, and opened the door a bit more viciously that I expected, stepped out, and slammed it so loud that the paintings on the walls jumped.

 

  I heard a heartbroken "Oh," from the other side of the door.

 

  Oh my god, I am such a dick. What the fuck am I doing. I am going to have a fucking seizure. I shouldn't have listened to mama. I'm a fucking idiot.

 

  I stared down at my hands, and my knuckles were a lot paler than usual, something they usually did when I was anxious. And oh boy was I on a near anxiety attack. I also realized that I couldn't really control my breathing, and I was hyperventilating and—

 

  "Not go well?" I heard a voice. I almost snapped my neck from jotting my head towards them in fear.

 

  "M-Mr. Heere?"

 

  "Really? Call me Paul. Calling me Mr. Heere makes me feel all old," He shrugs, taking a sip of his can of beer.

 

  "I might have made your son really sad—"

 

  "Yeah I can tell," he lets out a short-lived chuckle, "It's alright, kiddo. Come to the living room, I'll get you something to drink, you seem really shaken up."

 

  He's pretty calm talking to the guy that has been nothing but an unintentional dick to his child, which scared me into thinking that as soon as we got to the living room he'd unleash some kind of fresh hell onto me.

 

  However, as I sat down on the couch, he didn't yell at me, he didn't even seem angry. He handed me a glass of water.

 

  "So, uh, where's Mrs. Heere?"

 

  "She left Jeremy and I a year ago."

 

  "Oh," I'm great at unintentionally being a jerk, "Sorry."

 

  "Nope, it's okay. It was for the best anyway."

 

  "I'm sorry about..." I took in a deep breath, "Jeremy."

 

  "It's okay, doctors say he has a good chance of surviving."

 

  "Really? That's great," I force out a smile, "It must still be hard though."

 

  "Mmh," he hummed out, "You must be Michael, right?"

 

I become temporarily paralyzed. Oh my god, Jeremy told him about me. If he knows who I am, why's he not yelling at me right now?

 

  "Uhh, yeah, how'd you know?"

 

  "Well, you look like how Jeremy described you did, but that was four years ago, so I guess things have changed, huh?"

 

  "Jeremy talked about me?"

 

  "Of course he did. That kid was head over heels for you."

 

  I sighed. Great. Now I just feel one hundred times more guilty than I already did.

 

"Uh... I'm sorry for—"

 

"I don't know what you're apologizing for, but I guess I should owe you a thank you, even if it is a few years overdue," he sipped some more beer.

 

"Thank me? For what?"

 

He chuckled, "I don't know what it was about you, but the day you first asked him out he came back unbelievably happy, he started talking to me a lot more than usual. He was always a difficult kid. He never really found joy in anything besides flowers and drawing, and then suddenly you came along and he did nothing but smile for those next three years. I want to thank you for that."

 

   I feel my heart clench. I can't believe I was such a big point in Jeremy's life, meanwhile I forgot that Jeremy even existed a few years ago. I guess I'm going to have to be the one to ask, "Did he tell you about the break up?"

 

  "Oh yeah. Jeremy was never really vocal about things that made him upset though, so he just vaguely told me what happened, nothing more."

 

   "Aren't you mad at me?"

 

  "You were thirteen, Michael. No thirteen year old knows what they're doing. Don't beat yourself up over it," he gave me the typical sympathetic smile that mom always gave me.

 

  I'm very tempted to tell him that I'm seventeen and I still don't know what I'm doing, but I don't generally think that's a very good icebreaker.

 

  I stretched my mouth into a straight line, and realized that I probably should've shot Paul a smile, but I just couldn't muster the energy to.

 

  "How do you talk to Jeremy? You've been his dad for seventeen years, right? How do you talk to him?"

 

  Paul stared at me, and for the first time his smile wavered. He set down his can of beer on the coffee table and let out one last smile, "I don't know."

 

  "You don't know?"

 

  "I honestly, truly have no clue."

 

  "But... y-you're his dad and—"

 

  "Jeremy really is an enigma. When you talk to him, he seems like this straight forward kid, and that's always what I thought of my son: 'Honest, straight-forward, open about his life.' After he figured out he had cancer, all those walls ended up breaking down somehow. He had so many skeletons in the closet, my 'how was your day?' questions that used to be met with detail, were now just vague one-liners. It's like he wasn't even the same person anymore." He laughed, but there was no humour in it.

 

He continued: "I thought that because of his cancer, that was what was making him so upset, but no. All the times he assured me he was really happy were lies. He just lost the energy to lie after he got cancer, I guess. So this is the real Jeremy. Everything before cancer struck him was just a facade. A hoax."

 

  "And then it hit me, Michael. I don't know my son. I don't know this kid."

 

   He took a deep breath, "Everything I thought I knew about him was just something my imagination created from the watered down things he told me, which all went through the Happy filter. If something wasn't happy, he wouldn't say it. He was bottled up with all of these negative emotions, Michael..."

 

  And then Paul spoke one last time: "Pre-Cancer Jeremy wasn't Jeremy. It's what I wanted Jeremy to be."

 

  All of his words were straight, monotone, like this was something that's been on his mind for years. Then his signature smile returned. He stood up, ruffled my hair, and went to the kitchen.

 

  And I stood there.

 

  And I stood there.

 

  And I just stood there.

 

  Because I thought over it for a minute and I asked myself the question: "Who is Jeremy Heere?"

 

  I mean I was his technical boyfriend for three years, I must have a basic grasp on his personality right? I mean, he always said: "You can talk, I like listening." And personality is usually found out when a person talks. How do I know his personality if he barely talked?

 

  And then it hit me.

 

  I can't answer that question.

 

  I don't know who Jeremy Heere is.

 

  I don't think _Jeremy_ knows who Jeremy Heere is.


	8. I’m Going To Go Jump In A Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oops the proofreading on this is 100% terrible because i did it at 3am so if you see a mistake yell AAAAAAAAAA at the top of your lungs so that i can fix it

  I reached my home, emotionally drained and exhausted. I've left Jeremy's house and I've done nothing but harm.

 

  Let's go over the statistics:

 

  **Jeremy?**

•I asked him why he wasn't bald.

  •I told him to "have fun with the cancer" by accident.

  •I yelled at him how cool it is that hippo milk is pink right after he asked me a serious question that he probably kept internal for the past four years.

  •This one is going off basic context clues, but I'm pretty sure after I left he started crying.

  •So I've talked to Jeremy twice in these past four years and both times I made him cry, lovely.

 

  **Mr. Heere?**

  •I asked him about his wife, only to realize that she left, which is probably a sensitive subject that upset him.

  •I was an absolute ass to his son.

  •I made him unload a bunch of emotional baggage about his kid that he probably didn't want to talk about.

 

  **Myself?**

  •I feel guilty.

  •I have certified a number one spot in the Worst Person Ever™ list.

 

Yeah, not a fun visit. And you might be asking: " _Michael! You fucking dumbass! Why didn't you just tell Jeremy why you broke up with him you asshole! You broke up with him because you were scared of people harassing you for being gay, right? Why didn't you just tell him that_!" Yeah, I know.

" _How did you know that's what I was thinking_?" you may be asking, well, that’s because I'm thinking the exact same thing. While walking home I had to stand still every now and then just to internally scold myself.

 

And here's _why_ I didn't just tell him that:

 

Because I knew deep down that it was so much more than that.

 

Because if that was the only reason I would've broken up with him the day after I asked him out.

 

And even then, I was standing there, completely dumbfounded to why I did actually broke up with Jeremy, and why I didn't do it sooner, and the answer was right in front of me, however, I was somehow still oblivious to it.

 

I know why now.

 

But, that's a spoiler isn't it? Keep it in mind though, I’ll explain later on.

 

  It was like my brain was on auto-pilot, because I reached home without even being physically aware of it. I slammed the door open and when my mom saw me she was quite confused, considering I was gone for maybe twenty five minutes at most.

 

  "Hey sweetie, not go well?" She asked.

 

  I groaned slamming my head onto the counter.

 

  "What happened?" She put something in the oven, "Was Jeremy mean or something?"

 

  "No, no, Jeremy was nice, I was the mean one."

 

  Her eyebrows furrowed, "You're not a mean person, though—"

 

  "Yeah, yeah, I wasn't trying to be mean," I sigh. I hear a grunt come for her, which is just our way of mutually agreeing that I didn't want to talk about it.

 

  "So this whole Jeremy thing is a bust, huh?" She smiled sympathetically.

 

  "I guess."

 

  "Don't worry, honey, you don't have to go back—"

 

  "No, I'll go visit him again tomorrow."

 

  I watch as my mom almost chokes on her own saliva, "I-I'm sorry, what? But I thought it went badly?"

 

  "Yeah, but like, Jeremy laughed once or twice during it, and he's probably going through a tough time right now, and yeah, maybe I did a bit more harm than good, but hey! He was happy for a few seconds. Maybe if I can do that more often and be less of an asshole while doing it, it'll make him a feel a bit better or something.”

 

  My mom opens her mouth to retort, but closes it again, grinning at me, "Michael, you're a sweet kid, you really are," she ruffles my hair, "You can go back to you room, but come back down in five minutes, then I'll give you some lunch."

 

  I nod, making my way to my room and taking my phone out at the same time. As I plop down on my bed, my finger hovers over Chloe's contact. I mean, I feel like Jeremy kinda feels like shit at the moment. And Chloe and Jeremy are best friends right? Maybe if I just tell her to make sure he's okay...

 

As the phone rings, I can feel regret bubble in me. Fuck, Chloe’s going to yell at me.

 

“Hello?” I heard a voice from the other side.

 

“Uh, hey Chloe...”

“Oh hey Michael, what the fuck, I haven’t heard from you in like a week!” I could practically hear her smile through the speaker, “What’s up?”

 

I laugh awkwardly, “Uhhh, are you busy with anything at the moment?”

 

“I’m doing my make-up, but I can still talk while doing it, and it’s almost done anyway, yadda yadda, so yeah.”

 

I suck the air through my teeth, “You and Jeremy are like besties, right?”

 

There was a silence from the other side of the call, before she spoke up again: “You haven’t talked about Jeremy in like three years, damn,” I can hear something, probably her setting spray, fall onto the floor in the background, “Why the sudden interest?”

 

I chuckle nervously, “Ah, yeah...” I bite my lip anxiously, “Uh, he has cancer...”

 

“I know?” She says unsurely, like she’s trying to deduce my entire life story from that short three word sentence I just said, “Oh my god, Michael, don’t tell me you’re gonna hang out with a cancer patient just to get some sympathy points from your classmates. That’s majorly fucked—”

“Yeah, I know it’s majorly fucked, but that’s not what I’m doing, ya silly bitch,” I try to lighten up the mood, and it seems to help at least a bit, as I can hear Chloe breathe a sigh of relief.

 

“Okay, yeah suuure,” she says jokingly.

 

I roll my eyes, “Uh, okay... so, uh... I visited him today, okay?”

 

“Holy shit.”

“And it did not go well.”

 

“Holy fucking shit.”

I can practically hear how offended she is, “Look, I know you care about Jeremy a lot, I didn’t mean to be rude to him, I just—uh, I was trying to be nice, it just, uh, didn’t go well.”

 

“Oh my god, you moron,” she spat, “Of course, it didn’t fucking go well!” I heard her smack something off her table by accident, probably because of her frantic hand gestures, “Last time you talked to Jerm four years ago you made him cry, you humiliated him in front of the entirety of the seventh grade kids, you made him lose like 80% of his self-esteem, and all your dumb ass had to do was talk to his dumb ass!”

 

“It’s not that easy—”

 

“And you two could’ve been fine and dandy, you two bastards could’ve been friends, but noooo,” she did an overdramatic impression of me, “I’m Michael! Look at me! I didn’t listen to Chloe when she said I should’ve let Jeremy off easily four years ago, because I’m a dumbass! You prick.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude,” I sighed, “Can we have like one conversation about Jeremy without you being snarky about it? There’s a reason I stopped talking about him three years ago, it’s because I knew you were just gonna make me feel like shit for it.”

 

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t been a massive dickbag then maybe I wouldn’t have to be snarky, Michael.”

 

“Yuh-huh, I’m an okay guy who did a douchebag thing, I get it, we’ve talked about this a thousand times, you can lecture me about it later, but you need to listen to me right now,” I rambled, “The whole point is that I might have made Jeremy cry... again.”

 

“Again.”

 

“I’m sorr—”

 

“Are you fucking serious?”

 

“Okay! Yes! I know! Me = Dumbass, shut up! I know! But please, just go check on him, I don’t want him to feel like shit for the rest of the day just because I said a stupid thing.”

 

“Okay, fine, just know that Jeremy doesn’t need you anymore, okay? He got over you. Leave him alone. Don’t drag him back in. This is the last thing he needs right now.”

 

“Uh, so, uhm... when you see him? Can you just say I’m sorry.”

 

“If you want to say sorry to Jeremy, then you better fucking say it yourself. I’m not your messenger fairy, dude. You need to get shit done.”

 

I mutter: “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Alright, okay, I’ll go check on him, but just know I’m doing this for Jeremy and not you, ‘cuz fuck you.”

 

“Fuck me indeed.”

 

I heard Chloe sigh from the other side of the call, “Listen dude, you’re like on my list of Top 3 Nicest Guys I Know, and I’m being genuine when I say that,” she says slowly, and I almost awh and then I realized that a ‘but’ quickly followed, “But what is it with your inability to be nice to Jeremy, what the fuck, man?”

 

“Uhhh, excuse me,” I’m glad we got back into joking territory, so I know she isn’t too mad at me, “I was nice to him for three years!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, suuuure,” I could feel her eyes roll into the back of her head all the way from here, “I’m gonna go make sure you didn’t give Jeremy an aneurysm, seeya dude.”

 

“Thanks, bye.”

 

She hangs up, and I feel better.

 

Not good, but better.

 

Because at least Jeremy won’t feel like shit for the rest of the day, at least Chloe isn’t entirely mad at me, and at least some of my dignity is intact.

 

I think back to what Chloe said for a minute: “ _He got over you. Leave him alone. Don’t drag him back in. This is the last thing he needs right now._ ”

 

And that seems logical, doesn’t it? But for some reason I still felt the obligation to go visit him anyway. I mean, technically if I visit him tomorrow, I can blame it on Chloe, because she said I should apologize to him myself, and what better way to apologize than face to face, right?

 

 _Yeah. I can do that_.


	9. I Am Slightly Less Traumatized Than Before

I tried sleeping it off, but as soon as I woke up, my very first thought was: 'I need to go visit Jeremy today.'

 

When I went to school, the entire bus drive the only thought I had was: 'Jeremy's probably pissed as fuck at me right now.'

 

And all day during classes: 'What if he's already dead?'

 

  And here I was, once again, standing face-to-face with The Heere household, and those exact three thoughts were still swarming my head.

 

  I keep reaching out for the doorknob and then I hesitate. Why the fuck do I keep hesitating? I barely hesitated the first time I came here, and that was one hell of a ballsy move I pulled, yet now I can't even fathom opening the door.

 

  I bare my teeth, hoping that Mr. Heere isn't home, and push open the door, ignoring my thoughts screaming at me.

 

  I scan the room instantly and my shoulders slouch. The house looks weirdly empty. No empty beer cans, no clothes littered on the couch, none of the lights were on...

 

  I don't know whether or not I was relieved or upset that no one was home, but I went upstairs anyway. I bite my lip nervously, before knocking on the door with the stupid flower sticker.

 

  I didn't hear a response at first, so I breathed a sigh of relief, until: "You can come in, Avi!"

 

  I'm sorry, what? Who the fuck is Avi? Does Jeremy have a partner I'm not aware of?

 

  I ignore my thoughts and open the door. Jeremy's busy looking at his phone, so he isn't really meeting my eye. I clear my throat slightly.

 

  "Hey Av—Michael?" He doesn't look as shocked as yesterday, but just confused, "Uh... hi..."

 

  "Uhm..." I cough awkwardly, "Hey, uh, I'm here to apologize for that shit I said yesterday..."

 

  Jeremy opened his mouth to reply, closed it, shook his head and sighed, "Come in."

 

  I sat down on the edge of his bed looking down at my lap guiltily, "Okay, so I might said some stupid shit yesterday... because, uh, I dunno, that question was just kinda something I've always been, uhm, iffy about... I guess... so I, uh, freaked out and uhm..." I sucked the air through my teeth, "Point is, I-I don't hate you, I think you're great, that freak out I had was 100% not your fault... so, uh... hope you aren't, uh, angry at me or anything..."

 

  Jeremy's eyes softened, and he furrowed his brows in concern, a soft smile on his face, "Mikey, I-I was never angry with you."

 

  "You weren't?"

 

  "Y-yeah, I know, it's a..." Jeremy averted his eyes, "A touchy subject... I-I should've known, and I'm sorry."

 

  We sat in silence for a moment. It was kinda awkward, but it was calm, and somehow not as bad as usual awkward silences were.

 

  "So, uh... who's Avi?"

 

  Jeremy looked at me, "Y-You're kidding, right?"

 

  "I mean, if you had a datemate you could've just told me—"

 

  And suddenly Jeremy burst out giggling. My heart stopped for a moment. Fuck, I forgot what he sounded like when he had laughing fits. I'm glad the sound was back, but I was still confused as to exactly why he was laughing.

 

  Jeremy covered his mouth, "Oh—Oh my... Oh my god, you ac-actually—" he started laughing again.

 

  "Oh no, was I a dumbass again?" I said in a completely serious tone.

 

  "D-Dude, Avi means dad in Hebrew."

 

  "Oh," I let out a short-lived wheeze, whether or not the wheeze was because I was laughing or because I was embarrassed, who fucking knew, "Wait, you're a Hebrew?"

 

  "A Hebrew?" Jeremy laughed again, "H-Hebrew isn't a noun, it's an adjective." He had tears in his eyes at this point from laughing at my complete misinformation of Israeli culture.

 

  I open my mouth to retort something, but end up cutting myself off with laughter. Jesus Christ, I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I? But for once, I was actually laughing at myself instead of feeling guilty about it.

 

  "Yes, Michael, I'm 'a Hebrew,'" he joked, making quotation marks with his hands, giggling, "I'm Jewish, you know that, right?"

 

  "Not all Jewish people are Hebrew though, are they?"

 

  "I mean, you have a point," he stayed quiet for a moment, and then started laughing again, "God, this feels like 4th grade recess."

 

  I smile, "It really does," I suddenly have another very stupid question, but I'm so comfortable with Jeremy at the moment, so I'm not scared to ask it: "Hey, were you at school today?"

 

  "Yeah, why?"

 

  "Uh, well, it's just that, y'know..." I look at him and do some vague hand gestures. Maybe this question is a bit insensitive...

 

  Jeremy smiled, "Dude, really, y-you don't have to scared of asking questions, even if they are offensive, I know Middleborough doesn't teach you shit," he joked.

 

  "Uh, yeah, like Greenwell teaches you anything."

 

  "In Greenwell we learn that Hebrew isn't a noun."

 

  My lips formed a straight line, "Touché," I follow back up on the stupid question I had, "Okay, okay, fine, back to my stupid offensive question: Why do you go to school if you have... y'know... cancer?"

 

  Jeremy's eyebrows furrowed, "Well, why wouldn't I?"

 

  "Well, uh..." I fidgeted with my hands a bit, "Good question."

 

  He giggled, "I get what you mean. I mean, if I had the flu, I would stay home, b-because it's contagious and stuff, and it actually would like, stop me from learning."

 

  "Well, wouldn't cancer stop you from learning too?"

 

  "I mean, a-all it really does at this stage is make me throw up some blood sometimes, a-and I can just to the bathroom for that, and I had heartburn before I ever even g-got cancer, so y'know, it's easy to deal with."

 

  "Jesus Christ, throw up blood? And you're still going to school?"

 

  Jeremy scoffed, "It's really uncommon, I swear."

 

  "Well, doesn't it suck to be trapped in here all day?" I pouted, "C'mon, dude, really, do you have any hobbies?"

 

  Jeremy's smile suddenly turned really sad, "Haha... it, uh, sure sounds like y-you're trying to make me a bucket-list before I d-die here, Michael."

 

  I almost choke, my head getting dizzy, "Wh-what? N-No way!" I shoot him a fake smile, hoping he won't realize that's exactly what I'm doing. I mean, Jeremy could die tomorrow, I need to make sure every day I spend with him ends with him being happy just in case it's his last.

 

  "Michael..." his eyes glossed over, "I-I'm not going to die, you know that right...? I-I have a great d-doctor, they found t-the cancer at an early stage, I'm going to b-be oka—"

 

  "Jerm, I'm so sorry, I know."

 

  Jeremy sighed, "N-No, really, it's okay," he rested his head on his palm, he tried to change the subject: "B-but to answer your question, I d-don't really have any hobbies, i-if I'm being honest."

 

  "Really? Nothing at all? C'mon, man, what do you like?"

 

  "Uh, well, I like flowers... and cats and space and nothing else."

 

"Gardening? That's a hobby, right?" I rack my brain for any comprehensible knowledge, "And, uh... get a cat, or something, I dunno—"

 

"Awh, man, I haven't gardened in a while," he smiled fondly at the memory, which made my heart do a little internal smiley emoticon, "And I already have a cat, but she's a bitch and refuses to climb off the roof." He played around with his blanket a bit.

 

"What's your Hogwarts house?" I blurt out. Shit. That was a lot less inconspicuous that I wanted it to be. I was trying really hard to find out what his exact personality is, but that's really difficult without directly asking questions about it. I mean, Hogwarts houses are pretty telling of what basic personality you have, right?

 

"I'm sorry, what?"

 

"Oh, right, you probably don't know what Harry Potter is, sorr—"

 

"No, no, I do, but Jesus Christ," he laughed slightly, "That was kinda outta nowhere, don'tcha think?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," I chuckled nervously.

 

"Uh, well I'm a Hufflepuff, if you wanted to know."

 

I rack my brain for literally any information I have about Hufflepuffs. Uh, well? They're dedicated, I think, hard working, loyal, kind, patient... Those are all basic traits! They barely tell me anything about Jeremy's actual personality! I sigh internally.

 

Then it clicks.

 

Holy shit, I'm a Hufflepuff too.

 

"Oh, shit, really? Me too!"

 

  "Awh, dude, that's awesome," he gives me a little smile and I feel butterflies bubble in my stomach. I can't really identify the feeling, but it feels like guilt. It feels like I've made this guy feel like shit for the past four years and he was actually a huge sweetheart. Maybe the feeling wasn't guilt though, I honestly, truly don't know.

 

  "So, uh, quick question: What's your personality type?"

 

  Jeremy smiled again, "Dude, if you wanted to get to know my personality then you could've just asked," he pokes me mockingly, "It's INFP, by the way."

 

  "Sorry, sorry, it's just I don't remember much about your personality from when we were 13, so I don't really know how to talk to you...?" I ramble, knowing I sound really stupid.

 

  He beamed, "What about you?"

 

  "Huh?"

 

  "Your personality type? What is it?"

 

  "Oh, uh, I'm an ISFJ," I say, while in my mind I was trying to remember absolutely anything about psychology class to try and think of whether or not ISFJ's and INFP's are compatible as friends, but sadly my long term memory failed me.

 

  "So, uh, about the..." he noticeably grit his teeth, "Thing about you not knowing how to talk to me... uh... just be yourself, okay? You don't have to be scared of like, uh, being judged... or a-anything," he mumbled shyly, "I'm not trying to be your friend just for your positive traits, I'm here for the negative traits too."

 

  I almost say back: 'yeah well my negative traits are that i'm a bit awkward, your negative traits are that you have fucking cancer' and while my mind tried to find a more politcally correct way to say that, I thought over Jeremy's reply and picked up on something I didn't pick up on before.

 

  "Wait, can you repeat that?" I ask quickly.

 

  "Uh, be yourself?"

 

  "No, no, after that."

 

  "You don't have to be sca—"

 

  "No, after that."

 

  "I'm trying to be your friend becau—"

 

  "Friend? We're friends?"

 

  Jeremy furrowed his brows, "Are you implying we're not?"

 

  "No, no! Jeremy—" I think of a way to phrase this, "Uh, what's... your definition... of, uh... 'friends?'"

 

  Jeremy looked really confused at this point, "Uh, I have a dictionary in the closet—"

 

  "No, no, I don't mean like the Oxford definition, I meant like, what does being friends mean to you?" Thats a good way of finding out more about his personality, right? I know he has a similar sense of humour to mine, I know he's a Hufflepuff, I know he's an INFP (something I know nothing about, so I'll have to look that up) and if I know his definition of friendship, I'll have like a basic understanding of what he's like, right?

 

  "Uh, well, I don't stutter that much around you? And I feel pretty vulnerable at the moment, which is usually when I'd start panicking, but, uh... I feel... safe? I don't know if that's the right word," he tapped the wall anxiously, "But, like, I feel my emotions are kinda just scattered about, and usually that's... not very reassuring..." he laughed, but there was no humour in it, "But I trust you to be... careful with my feelings? I guess? And I mean, we did date for three years, and you told me all the stories you had, and you always calmed me when I panicked, so... you must have a basic grasp of what I'm like, which is... reassuring, I guess. It makes me feel like I don't have to justify myself constantly."

 

  Oh Jeremy, that's where you're wrong. I have no fucking clue who you are.

 

  I sigh internally, getting a small headache. Finding out Chloe and Rich's personalities were hella easy, I had a basic understand of exactly what they were like after they said their first few sentences, but everytime Jeremy said something it'd completely contradict from the image I had in my mind.

 

  **What I thought of Jeremy before this conversation:** Short-tempered.

  **What he ended up saying:** "Mikey, I-I was never angry with you."

 

  **What I thought of Jeremy before this conversation:** Easily offended.

  **What he ended up saying:** "Dude, really, y-you don't have to scared of asking questions, even if they are offensive..."

 

  **What I thought of Jeremy before this conversation:** Incredibly closed off when it comes to expressing his emotions.

  **What he ended up saying:** "And I feel pretty vulnerable at the moment, which is usually when I'd start panicking, but, uh... I feel... safe?"

 

  In other words, my definition of "completely bottled up and closed off" is his definition of "oozing with emotions at the moment."

 

  Not great.

 

  But hey, I found out some basic shit, right?

 

“Michael? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

 

My eyes snapped open, “Oh, uh, yeah... it’s just...”

 

I breathe in: “I’m glad we’re friends now.”


	10. Who Knew Discussing Death With A Stereotypical Popular Highschool Jock Could Be So Reassuring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i characterized jeremy as an infp in this and michael as an isfj and i kinda mention it a lot in here so here are the articles if you’re curious
> 
> isfj - https://www.16personalities.com/isfj-strengths-and-weaknesses  
> infp - https://www.16personalities.com/infp-strengths-and-weaknesses
> 
> i think they’re accurate but hey what do i know lmao anyways have with this absolute disaster of a chapter

  I don't know how I got here.

 

It's 3AM, I have school tomorrow, and I'm wasting my life away, constantly swapping between two tabs.

 

 **Tab #1:** A shitty excuse for a flash game that I go to every now and then when I'm feeling stressed. I have no idea what the objective is, I have no idea what the controls are, but something about just smashing random keys and then watching as something random happens is calming.

 

I feel like it's a pretty good metaphor for my life at the moment. I don't know what the controls are, but sometimes key-smashing is the only thing that gets shit done. Whether or not that shit is good or not is entirely up to my luck, of which I have none. Sometimes when I slam my head against the keyboard, something good happens that leads me closer to the goal (though I have no idea what that goal is) and I'll try to recreate whatever I just did, so that something good can happen again, but I'd already forgotten what key I pressed.

 

Yeah. This whole situation is just like that.

 

 **Tab #2:** One of those websites that looked oddly scholarly, focusing on the MBTI personalities, because like I said, any knowledge I had of it was completely down the drain. I've already opened the "INFP" tab so see what the fuck Jeremy is all about, but every time I look at how long the article was I got intimidated and went back to "playing" the shitty flash game.

 

And honestly, it's stupid. It really is. Figuring out Jeremy's personality was like my number one objective these last few days, and now I have a stupid website that may or may not answer some of my stupid questions, yet here I was, avoiding it as much as possible.

 

It felt wrong reading about it, if that even made sense. I'd open the article and then I'd feel some sense of wrongness well up in my throat and I'd instantly close it again. I can't place what the feeling is, though. All I know is it makes my stomach churn and it's made me avoid this web page for the last three hours.

 

So I made a silent deal with myself. I set a timer for five minutes, and said I'd read it without getting distracted for that period of time, and see if I can gather anything from it. If not, then I go to bed, if yes, then I keep reading. Alright, I can do that. Only five minutes, right?

 

I opened the article and clenched my teeth, the churning stomach feeling coming back. I start the timer and tried to skim read, holding on to any sentences that told me anything.

 

One of things the website put a lot of emphasis on was the "INFP's are very optimistic!" part, which I could kinda see? i mean, he has cancer and he's dealing with that pretty well. But then again he seemed really pessimistic about the whole us "dating" situation. I mean, if he was optimistic, would he really be assuming I hate him just because I kinda lied about being romantically attracted to him? That's pretty much the opposite of optimistic isn't it?

 

Then I went to the next paragraph that said that INFP's take things too personally. Oh. Oops. My bad.

 

Okay, okay, everything seems to line up, so maybe this isn't a total waste and maybe I will get actual knowledge from this stupid website.

 

One of the points were: "....they are difficult to get to know." Yeah, you got that right.

 

Another one, much to my dismay, said: "INFPs are private, reserved and self-conscious." In other words: What the fuck did I get myself into?

 

After reading through the entire article, (completely ignoring the timer, I might add) I felt like I had at least a tiny bit more information on Jeremy. That's something, right? I'm not clueless anymore.

 

I was so upset with the guy for being so closed off, but now I know it's actually his fucking personality and not just a bad habit. So that made me feel guilty. Maybe Jeremy was opening up to me and I just refused to acknowledge it because it wasn't enough to me for some moronic reason.

 

I look down at my phone. Would messaging Jake something right now be overboard? Would that be weird? Would that be creepy?

 

The answer is D) All of the above.

 

However, I did it anyway because it was 3am and my body was moving without any of my brain's permission. This was beginning to be such a problem to the point that I doubted that I even still had brain.

 

me: dear god jake i am a mess lord save us all

 

jakeyd: it is 3am

 

me: yes i am aware

jakeyd: good because that raises the question of why the fuck u texting me

 

me: that's a good question you just raised but it cancels out because i have an answer

 

jakeyd: that answer being?

 

me: im having boy troubles :((((

 

jakeyd: his dead body cant fit in your closet kinda troubles or u like him kinda troubles

 

me: neither

 

jakeyd: oh no

 

me: okay i need to tell you about jeremy

 

jakeyd: chloe told me everything

 

me: sHE WHAT

 

me: THAT SLIMY SON OF A BITCH

 

jakeyd: she was pissed

 

me: uh yeha and so was i now please listen to me

 

me: i've made it my mission to be jeremy's friend because he has zero

 

me: or well i'm sure he has a few but i doubt they're any good with emotional support which is what he needs

 

jakeyd: why would he need emotional support?

 

me: ???? he has cancer u knobbin

 

jakeyd: WHAT

 

jakeyd: CHLOE DID NOT TELL ME THAT

 

jakeyd: OH MY GOD MICHAEL YOU MADE A CANCER KID CRY YOU DONE FUCKED

 

me: shut ur fuckin mouth!!!

 

me: i already feel bad enough cmon man

 

me: also dont call him a cancer kid for the love of god

 

jakeyd: right right sorry

 

jakeyd: but like this kid has cancer he probably planned his whole life in front of him and now all of thats gone and you made him fuckingg cry whata the fucnk sksksksksksk

 

Whatever Jake just tried to send me was complete gibberish, but I could still somehow make it out and I actually thought about it for a moment:

 

He said how much he liked gardening, does that mean he sleeps every night thinking one day soon he'll never be able to garden again? He said he liked stars, so does that mean he keeps on thinking about how he's never going to be able to see them again soon? What about his cat? His cat who, according to him is "a bitch who refuses to climb off the roof." When Jeremy dies what would happen to the cat? What would happen to his dad? What would happen to Chloe? What would happen to _me_?

 

jakeyd: you've been quiet

 

jakeyd: sorry sorry i know it isnt your fault its not like you tried to make him cry

 

jakeyd: dude breathe

 

jakeyd: you still with me?

 

I sighed.

 

me: sorry just wow

 

me: dude i really desperately need to make this kid happy before he dies if i don't it's going to drive me fucking insane

 

me: if i make him cry again it'll follow me to my grave i can't deal with that

 

jakeyd: jesus fucking christ dude

 

jakeyd: thats heavy

 

jakeyd: fucjking hell does jeremy know u refer to him as "the kid i need to make happy before he dies" because i'm pretty sure he wouldn't be happy about that

 

me: god you're right

 

jakeyd: cancer can be cured. you know that right? you numpty!!!

 

jakeyd: there's even a big chance that jeremy wont die i mean he has a lot of treatments and surgeries to his disposable

 

jakeyd: trust me on this dude he'll be fine

 

me: maybe he will be

 

I smile for a minute before it disappeared, realizing what was at stake.

 

me: but the point is that he isn't right now

 

me: listen dude thanks for talking to me i feel like this has lifted a mild weight off my shoulders.

 

jakeyd: dude anytime

 

jakeyd: please get some sleep though

 

jakeyd: dont stress about jeremy too much okay like i said he's even been talking about a surgery that the doctors said has like a million percent chance of helping him

 

jakeyd: okay maybe thats an exaggeration but still! a big chance! maybe you and jeremy can even be normal friends

 

me: yeah

 

me: yeah you're right

 

me: i shouldn't let this guy take over my life or anything

 

me: i mean its not like i even care about him or anything haha

 

jakeyd: yeah you keep telling yourself that

 

I shut off my phone after that, shutting my laptop and lying down on my bed, looking up at the ceiling, acutely aware of every little sound around me.

 

And my mind wanders back to Jeremy.

 

He thinks we're friends, and I like to think that I think so too, but I have my doubts. This wasn't meant to happen. My intention was to go to his house once, make him feel a bit better, apologize for the "incident" all those years ago, then I'd go home and that'd be it.

 

Yet here I am.

 

It's not like I'm tired of Jeremy. Talking to him made me happy, actually. Like _really happy_. He talked more than he did when we were kids, and God, I'm really fucking glad he does.

 

  I'm just tired of the emotional baggage that comes with him. Talking to someone and being so aware of the fact that they have a life-threatening illness is fucking terrifying. I'll wake up every morning wondering if he's alive. Hell, I'm wondering that exact thing right now.

 

  But maybe,

 

  Just maybe,

 

  It's worth it.


	11. The World Is Stupid And So Am I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i deadass haven’t updated in 74 years so here’s a slightly longer chapter than normal to make up for it

I was in the middle of talking to Jake and Jenna, when suddenly, a random Whitney Houston song filled the café. It was mostly drowned out due to the people chattering about. I looked up and looked at Jake, who was still waiting for me to continue my overenthusiastic story about jellyfish, so that I could compliment whoever it was on their excellent music taste, until I realized that it was, indeed, coming from my own ringing phone.

 

I quickly take it out and silence it "Sorry, sorry—"

 

It starts ringing again. I look up at Jenna, her eyes not even diverting from her phone. She was in a very heated Twitter battle with Madeline and the last thing you should do during times like these is interrupt her, luckily I still had Jake to keep me company, however, she spoke up anyway: "Sounds important, dude. Go ahead."

 

I look at Jake and he nods.

 

  I shoot them both an apologetic smile and go outside so that I could talk in silence. I look down at the caller ID.

 

  Chloe.

 

  Oh shit.

 

  Jeremy probably told her I went to visit him.

 

  When she explicitly told me not to.

 

  Oh fuck.

 

  I suck the air through my teeth and pick up the call. The other end is eerily quiet, which I could only take as a hint that I needed to talk first: "Uh, hey Chlo—"

 

  "What the fuck?"

 

  "Okay, listen, I felt bad, okay? I recognized that I acted like a dick, completely by accident mind you, and I went to fix it, okay? That was it! Jeremy forgave me and we're okay-ish friends now," I pinched the bridge of my nose. If the next thing that comes out Chloe's mouth is anything remotely close to 'you're a dickbag' then I'm hanging up.

 

I hear an exhale from the other side of the call. A beat.

 

"You made Jeremy happy, okay?" I can actually hear her physically hurt over saying that, "He was really giggly the entire day at school, and when I asked him why, he told me."

 

I grit my teeth. I was getting really mixed messages. It's like when you come down to the dinner table and your mom says: 'well, look who finally came to join us!' all sarcastically. Like, do you want me here or not?

 

"So... are you... mad?" I say unsurely.

 

Chloe sighs, her voice starting off high and dropping an entire octave, "No, you ignored what I said, so I'm kinda grumpy, but other than that, I'm glad you said sorry, okay? And uh... thanks for making Jeremy smile."

 

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

 

"Don't—"

 

"Did Chloe Valentine, just thank me, Michael Mell, born on 7th March 2001, at 2:30PM raised in Ecu—"

 

"Oh my god, yes, shut your mouth," I could hear her let out a stupid unattractive laugh straight afterwards. But not like unattractive like ugly or anything, it's like one of those real laughs that makes your insides go all smiley.

 

"So, you'd be like... okay? With me visiting him in the future? Is that what you're saying? Do I get full Chloe Valentine permission to visit Jeremy Heere today?"

 

  I can hear the smile in her voice, "As long as you don't do whatever the fuck you did the day before yesterday, then yes. You get full Chloe Valentine permission."

 

  "Fuck yeah."

 

  The day absolutely went uphill from there. Jenna offered to pay the bill that I was stressing about, the waitress gave me two cookies instead of one by accident and I clicked shuffle on my playlist and got nothing but my favourite songs.

 

Which made the rest of the day all the more terrifying.

 

Because I know if things in my life are going a bit too radical, then something very unradical follows shortly after.

 

So now I was sitting on the couch, next to my mom, watching old re-runs of Peppa Pig when the thought occurred: 'Should I visit Jeremy today?"

 

I decided to make a Pro's and Cons list, hoping it'd help me.

 

PRO'S OF VISITING JEREMIAH HEERE:

•I'm in a very good mood, which means the amount of "uh..."s I murmur during different words will greatly decrease.

•Chloe gave me full Chloe Valentine permission to visit him, and that happens once every two blue moons, and who knows how long it'll last before the permission is revoked? I need to use it to my advantage before Chloe changes her mind.

•Chloe informed me that, because I visited him, Jeremy was all smiley the whole day and that made me giddy. It made my cheekbones hurt from smiling from just thinking about it, because I was actually achieving my goal! To make Jeremy smile! I'm actually doing it!

•This particular Peppa Pig episode sucks, and I'd much rather be talking to a jew with esophageal cancer than watch this abomination.

 

CONS OF VISITING JEREMIAH HEERE:

•There are several ways the visit could go wrong. I could accidentally be a dick again. I could accidentally say some stupid shit that makes him upset. I could accidentally force him into giving me his firstborn child. A lot could happen.

•As much as I love talking to Jeremy, the constant underlying feeling of: 'He's going to fucking die soon, hurry up, hurry up, you're running out of time, you need to—'is overwhelming.

 

  I only count two cons, but those two cons are pretty extreme, so maybe this isn't the best idea.

 

  Then again, the pro's are pretty extreme too...

 

  "Hey mom, when are you going to work?" I ask, my focus not on the Peppa Pig episode at all.

 

"Oh shit, I have work," She jumped up, "I mean shoot, no swearing until you're 45."

 

"Wait! Before you go, can I go visit Jeremy again today? Uh—Y'know, just to make sure."

 

She gives me a look, "Uhm... well, yeah! Of course. You're 17, you don't have to ask anymore," she pats my head, quickly tugging on her cardigan, "So, uh, you and Jeremy, huh?"

 

"We're friends."

 

She smiles, "Good to hear," she grabs her keys, "Well, hope you have fun, honey!"

 

"Uh, yeah—Bye," I hear the door slam, and there I was. Sitting on my couch, contemplating. I mean, maybe I shouldn't-

 

  Then Chloe's voice rings at the back of my mind: "You made Jeremy happy, okay?"

 

  Well, I guess considering Chloe's pretty snarky and pretty shit at being empathetic, and Mr. Heere is going through a midlife crisis and probably doesn't know what his son's favourite colour is, I feel as though it is my Responsibility™ to make sure Jeremy laughs at least one (1) time a day.

 

  In hindsight: Not the best decision, but hey. Hindsight helps no-one, now does it?

 

  So there I was, awkwardly walking back up to the Heere household, for the third time in the past three days. Is this creepy? I mean, is this gonna be an everyday thing? Am I gonna be known as the boy who visited the random kid with cancer everyday until he died?

 

No Michael. Bad Michael. Jeremy isn't going to die. He said he wouldn't.

 

I tensed up and suddenly this idea didn't seem as good as it did a few minutes ago. His house was in my view now and I could feel my breaths get shallow, which is something it never did.

 

Whatever, right? Best case scenario, I knock, no one opens up, I go home.

 

As I make my way up to the porch, I recollect myself and push my hair back, hoping that it would make it look like less of a mess, but I'm guessing it made it worse. Everything I do is counterproductive.

 

I knocked twice, and after 3.5 seconds of not getting an answer, I breathed out a sigh of relief, ready to turn around and walk home, forget about this situation, forget Jeremy ever existed and wallow in my own self-pity whi—

 

"Oh, hey Michael."

 

Fuck.

 

"Hey Jerem—Woah," I look him in the eye for the first time. He has ridiculous bags under his eyes and he looks unhealthily pale.

 

I hear him halfheartedly chuckle, "It's that bad, isn't it?" He scratches the back of his neck nervously.

 

"I... I—No! It's just..." I place a hand to his forehead, and it's definitely a lot warmer than it should be, but other than that it's a pretty average-ish temperature, so that doesn't explain why he looks like shit, "Damn, man, what happened?"

 

He sighed and shook his head, "I dunno, I guess this is what being locked in your room all day does to a guy."

 

I cross my arms, "Okay, when's the last time you stepped outside your room?"

 

"Uh, does going to school count?"

 

"Absolutely not."

 

"It's been a good four months."

 

"How long ago did you get diagnosed with cancer?"

 

"Four months ago."

 

I sigh, "Listen, let's go to my house, okay? I feel like your brain needs to be put in a place other than two locations."

 

I can see Jeremy physically grit his teeth, his eyes averting and instead deciding to look at the floor boards, "I-I mean... Y-Yeah. That'd probably be good for me."

 

I muster up a smile and try to make it as genuine as possible, "My house is empty so we can do all sorta shit."

 

He gives me a soft smile and yes, fuck yeah, fucking radical, I _actually_ made him smile. Mission accomplished

 

Jeremy and I walked side-by-side at first, but then our fingers brushed against each other. I could actually hear Jeremy let out a shriek and then instantly distance himself.

 

I paused for a minute, "Why'd you do that?" Holding hands when we were 10, hell even after we turned 13,wasn't a big deal, why would it be now? Back then it was something that just came naturally. There was no discussion beforehand concerning whether or not we should hold hands, because that'd be fucking stupid, of course. It's just something that I initiated, because I was like 'Uh, this is what couples do, right?' and then he went along with it.

 

Well, that was fake dating, so maybe this is different?

 

But then again, being 13 is a lot easier than being 17, and Jeremy's probably insecure being friends with the guy who according to Chloe "ruined his life" in 7th grade, and even though I'm slightly more convinced after seeing Jeremy's aversion to any real physical contact or just having a large group of friends in general, I still assured myself that was because of cancer and not me.

 

Yeah, I made his life kinda sucky, yeah, maybe I ruined his self-esteem for a while, but Chloe going overboard with all the snarky remarks makes it sound like I was the one who gave him cancer, which I'm like 50% sure I didn't.

 

Needless to say, Jeremy declined my invitation for some good ol' platonic hand holding, so he just awkwardly idled behind me for the most of the walk.

 

When we started getting closer to my house, I pointed to it, "That's my shithole."

 

Jeremy's eyes widen for a moment, which I didn't understand. Our house wasn't big, it was almost exactly the same size as his, so it couldn't be that.

 

"Woah."

 

"It was... It was... Right there. It's right there,"

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"It was right there all this time? All these years, it was right there."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Damn."

 

"You okay?"

 

"No, just... man. I felt so isolated from you. I felt like you were a million miles away from me. But you were just... down the street. That's pretty disorienting."

 

I snorted, knowing that was the exact thing I thought, "Yeah, you big dork, now let's go," me, being a hypocrite, walked as slow as possible. Every second that Jeremy spent being outside was a second well spent. I know this whole cancer thing is keeping him locked up in his room, so I guess my next plan of action is to keep him out of his room as much as possible.

 

We were approaching my house pretty soon, so I decided to lay off the small talk so we could both just think for a little while. My brow furrows at my thoughts. Jeremy having cancer was either something I completely forgot about or something that was on my mind 24/7, there was literally no inbetween.

 

Like yesterday, when we were giggling at me knowing nothing about Judaism or me using "Hebrew" as a noun, and I just look at him and he's smiling and he doesn't look like has cancer, he doesn't sound like he has cancer, and judging by the expression on his face, he definitely didn't feel like he had cancer.

 

Yet he did.

 

Jeremy Heere had cancer.

 

I wonder if Jeremy felt the same? I wonder if he was either overly aware of his cancer or just sometimes went into trances of completely forgetting about it.

 

Man, that must suck. Imagine completely forgetting you have cancer and then someone brings it up: "Hey man, how's the cancer?" and then there's that short moment of: "Oh. Yeah. That's a thing I have."

 

I mean, technically that's exactly what I'm doing, but Jeremy said he was okay with my overly insensitive and offensive questions about cancer, because, although I denied it at the time, like he said, Middleborough didn't teach us shit.

 

We reached my house and i quickly fiddled with the keys for a bit before getting the door unlocked.

 

"So, you wanna go to my room or...?" I purse my lips, thinking for a moment. Would another bedroom be good for Jeremy right now? I mean, I guess this is technically a different house so it'd be a nice breath of fresh air either way, "It's like, completely different from your room, so it'll be a nice change of pace." I offer.

 

He nods thankfully and I lead him upstairs, and yeah, I wasn't exaggerating when I said my room was the exact opposite of his.

 

The colours on my wall were crazy vibrant, and most of the colours that weren't vibrant were darker ones. Jeremy's room consisted of more pastel and soft colours, leaning moreto blue and pink shades. Whether or not he'd be uncomfortable here was entirely up to the next few minutes of me studying his expression and body language.

 

I sit down on the bed, "Alright, so we're here. You wanna talk about what's bothering you?"

 

Jeremy scrunched up his nose, so I took that as a no.

 

"Later?"

 

He nodded.

 

I noticed he wasn't doing a lot of talking, "You okay with talking? It's alright if you aren't, it's just, uh... y'know..." It reminds me of when you barely talked in 4th grade and the thought of you returning to that state is absolutely terrifying because I like actually talking to you and you giggling throughout and adding whatever little story you have to the conversation and I love talking to you and please talk please talk please talk—

 

That thought left hung in the air. On a level it was mutually understood, but it was still left unsaid.

 

He's trying very hard to avoid eye contact, "Uh, well... Uhm, I'm scared if I start talking I'll start crying." His voice was hoarse and it made my stomach churn.

 

I wanted to tell him that it was fine if he wanted to cry, I'd be 100% down with that. Everyone deserves a good cry every now and then. But I haven't known Jeremy for—Okay, well, yeah, I've known Jeremy since I was 10, but i didn't start talking to him again until a few days ago, so I'd get there being a bit of an emotional barrier present.

 

So I just nod wordlessly.

 

"Well, you want a pep talk?"

 

Jeremy laughs momentarily, thinking I'm joking, "Oh, you're serious?"

 

"You know what Schreitherapie is?"

 

"What the fuck is that?"

 

"It's a German word. It was a kind of therapy used in the 1900's where they took depressed people, made them get naked and then lead them out to the forest and asked them to scream," I explained enthusiastically.

 

Jeremy stilled for a moment, "And did it work?"

 

"Wanna find out?"

 

"Dear God—"

 

"Kidding, kidding, but yeah it worked. Taking people out the forest and making them strip all their clothes was admittedly kinda counterproductive. Schreitherapie directly translates to scream therapy, in other words, the screaming was the real therapy part," I was hoping he'd catch on to all the crap that I was ranting about.

 

"That's cool."

 

"So? Wanna try it out?" I offered.

 

"The forest part? The naked part? Or the screaming part?"

 

"The screaming part. Screaming is very therapeutic, it's like psychologically proven and shit, c'mon, man," I pat him on the back, hoping that'd motivate him.

 

  "Uhm... I dunno, man—

 

  I unexpectedly let out a yell that lasted two seconds at most, it wasn't even a word, but it sounded suspiciously like AAA and it made Jeremy flinch so hard that he almost jumped through the ceiling.

 

"O-Oh my god, wh-why would you do that—"

 

  "Why wouldn't I? I feel a bit better now, and I feel more awake."

 

  "I'm sure you do, b-but like, no way is it worth it."

 

  I sit parallel from him on the bed, "Alright, pal. I named two benefits from randomly screaming a few seconds ago, now I want you to name some downsides."

 

  "Well, uh, won't people hear—"

 

  "Nope! No one's here and even if they were," I knock on the walls, "These walls are pretty thick."

 

  "I—"

 

  "You don't wanna?"

 

  "Uh, n-no—"

 

  "Okay!" I face him, "Then slap me."

 

  "What? No! Why would I do that?" Jeremy immediately put both of his arms behind his back.

 

  "Why wouldn't you?"

 

  "B-because! That'd hurt, wouldn't it?"

 

  "Well, I'm giving you full permission to, so literally nothing bad could come from this," I shrug, "And I kinda deserve it for being a dick."

 

  Jeremy frowns, his voice calm, "You don't deserve to be slapped, don't talk down on yourself li—"

 

  "Don't change the subject! Slap me!"

 

  Jeremy clenched his teeth and gave me a quick poke on the cheek, "I'm sorry—"

 

  I roll my eyes, "No, no! Like actually slap me, har—" I'm cut off by a burning feeling on my cheek.

 

"Oh, wow. Ouch," I scrunch up my nose, Jesus, that was hard.

 

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't—"

 

"No, no, no! It's okay, I literally told you to," I give him a skewed smile, "Alright, do you feel better?"

 

"I mean, uh... a little bit, but I can't necessarily go around slapping people everytime I'm sad, now can I?" He jokes.

 

"Uh, I beg to differ, but alright, let me tell you a lil' thing here, buddy," I sit down in my swivel chair and spin around a bit for dramatic effect, "You have to do one thing that makes you uncomfortable each day."

 

"What? Why would I do that?" He frowns, "The whole thing is that I'm already uncomfortable, why would I do things to make that worse?"

 

"By uncomfortable, I don't mean like eating cockroaches or shit, I mean like stuff that'll benefit you," I try to explain, continuously clicking a pen I had in my hand, "Like, what's stopping you from doing what you want to achieve right now?"

 

"Cancer and consequences."

 

"Bullshit!" I throw my pen to the table, "Okay, what's the one emotion you feel right now?"

 

"Uh. I'm kinda tired. Is that even an emotion?"

 

"Uhm, I mean, technically no, but hey! It's something, okay, so I'm kinda tired too," I awkwardly back slowly into my bathroom, making sure to keep my eyes on Jeremy, and he just looked confused, "So! What keeps you awake?"

 

"Uhm... I dunno, sleeping early?"

 

"Yeah, that's one thing, but throwing cold water on yourself makes you more wakey wakey right?"

 

"For the love of God, do not say wakey wakey—"

 

I climb in the shower, put it on the coldest setting and then put it on for a few seconds, "Alright, I feel better."

 

Jeremy's just looking at me, mouth agape, "Why the fuck would you do that!"

 

"Well, I'm tired. I feel more awake now."

 

"Was taking a three second cold shower with all of your clothes on the best solution to that?"

 

"Probably not. But it worked," I sat back down on the bed, aware that I was probably getting my bedding wet, "Now name a few downsides."

 

"Your hair is wet!"

 

"It'll dry."

 

"Your clothes are wet."

 

"Doesn't bother me."

 

"You're getting your bedding wet."

 

"Damm, do you know what drying is?"

 

Jeremy rolls his eyes, but I can tell he's smiling, "What's the meaning of all of this, then?"

 

"The point is, sometimes you just gotta do shit that makes you feel weird," I suddenly remember a pretty good example, "Okay! Wait, so in 8th grade all the way to 10th grade I did this embarrassing thing where I'd walk with my hands behind my back, so I basically looked really pathetic 24/7, so one day, I asked myself: Why do I walk like that?" I make some frantic hand gestures that aren't really adding to the story much, "Well, it's because I thought walking normally would be awkward. But walking with my hands behind my back was even more awkward, wasn't it? And now I just walk normally, like uh, y'know, not a fucking idiot. Yeah, it made me kinda uncomfortable at first, but it ended up benefiting me."

 

"So, you're saying... I should, uh... do some stupid shit? That makes me feel icky? And then hope it has a positive outcome?"

 

"I mean, yeah, I guess you could word it like that," I look at him and he's smiling, but he still looks kinds nervous, "Alright, you have two options."

 

"Those options being...?"

 

"A) You have to scream. B) You have go take a cold shower with all your clothes on."

 

I see Jeremy open his mouth to retort, and then sigh, shaking his head. He stands up, goes to the shower, and I almost laugh, because there's no way the anxious kid with cancer is going to take a fully clothed cold shower, especially after he freaked out about it a minute ago.

 

Then I heard the shower turn on.

 

  I was expecting him to come out completely dry with a quick little exchange of: "Ha! I bamboozled you! Why the fuck would I take a cold shower just because some dumbass told me to?"

 

  However that moment never came.

 

  Then he stepped back out, soaking wet.

 

  I try to suppress my laughter, but Jeremy definitely noticed and gave me a death glare, which just completely broke me and made me double over with laughter.

 

  "Oh my!" Wheeze "You actually!" Wheeze "You!" Wheeze "You actually did it!" Wheeze.

 

  He nodded, sitting on the opposite end of me, meanwhile I was still struggling to catch my breath, "Oh my god—Dude! I didn't expect you to a-actually—" I take in a deep breath, "Actually do it, oh my god!"

 

  He was still trying to remain stoic, but he started laughing too, and now we're just both giggly soaking wet messes laughing about something that isn't even that funny, but because the past few days were so tense it felt like a massive relief.

 

  "So? You feel better?" I poke him in the side with my unreasonably sharp elbow.

 

  Jeremy snorts, "Alright, yeah, yeah, I admittedly feel a little better."

 

  "See! Michael Hackerman Mell has cracked the code," I make a lame excuse of a joke, and it's like the unfunniest thing I've said in my entire life, yet Jeremy was still genuinely giggling at it.

 

  "Is this gonna be an everyday thing?" Jeremy asks, "Like are you gonna come over everyday and give me an hour long TedTalk and then make me do some stupid shit? Because I'd honestly be down with that."

 

  "If you're down with it, then so am I," I insist. Dear God if this becomes an everyday thing I don't know how long I'll survive before we accidentally kill ourselves whilst doing stupid bullshit. Yet something about it sounds super worth it.

 

And I look at Jeremy and he’s frantically wiping tears from his face, but those tears are luckily from laughter and not sadness, so I felt a giddy feeling rise my chest. Every little giggle Jeremy let out I felt myself perk up. I’m doing it. I’m actually being kinda useful!

 

And I look at Jeremy, and maybe,

 

Maybe everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y’all can i just be serious fully clothed 30 second cold showers are the fucking BOMB i 100% reccomend them if you feel tired all the time


	12. I’m Gonna Get This Fucker A Dog And A Colouring Book And No One Can Stop Me

  "Hey, I know this question is... kinda spontaneous? B-But is it chill if I stay the night at yours?" Jeremy asks unsurely, "I mean, I love my house, don't get me wrong, but I've slept there for four months every night now, and it just gets so... I dunno..."

 

  "Dude, really, it's fine! You can take the bed. The floor is comfy as fuck," I try to hide it as much as possible, but his offer made me incredibly happy. He's finally getting out of his bedroom! And yeah, it may just be a different bedroom, but it's still progress.

 

He stops for a minute, "What? No, no, this is your house, dude. You sleep on the bed."

 

"Nope, I'm sleeping on the floor," I insist.

 

"Well, I guess we're both sleeping on the floor then," he stands up and reaches his hand out for me, and I accept it, "Alright, since we're both stubborn, let's build a blanket fort to sleep in."

 

I let out a laugh that ends prematurely, "You serious?"

 

"Yeah, where's your blanket closet?"

 

"Blanket closet?"

 

"Oh my god. You don't have a blanket closet."

 

"And you do?"

 

He rolls his eyes playfully, "Yeah, I mean, obviously. Everyone has a blanket closet, except for my dumbass friend apparently." He takes a few pillows, "Alright, go harvest any blankets you can find, I'll get some clothing pegs."

 

I tilt my head, "I'm not sure harvest is the right synony—"

 

"Go."

 

Can't argue with that. I was about to go tear my house apart so I could find the so called "blanket closet" that apparently everyone has, when I heard a voice from downstairs.

 

"Hey honey! I'm home! Who you talking to?" I heard my mama's voice. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

 

Jeremy looks at me, and I stare back, and he doesn't look scared or worried, so that was a good sign.

 

"Uhhh, mom? Can you come up here?" I say unsurely. Jeremy tears his gaze away from me and places his pillows back down, sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

There's a short silence as mama's footsteps follow up the stairs, "Hey honey, who's—Oh," I try to read her expression, but it's honestly impossible, "Uh, Jeremy! Hi! It's so good to see you!" She smiles, and she gives me a split second look of WHAT THE FUCK.

 

"Hi Mrs. Mell," he shakes his hand politely, "I like your dress!" He smiles at her. Mama's previous uncertain face drops, and is replaced with a huge genuine smile.

 

  "Really? You think so? My wife says it's too over the top, but what does she know? I bought it at H&M!" Mama smiles really wide and starts going on a two minute long enthusiastic ramble that I completely tuned out and didn't pay attention to, but Jeremy listened and nodded throughout, "Michael, bring Jeremy over more often. I like him. Keep him."

 

  "Will do," I tune back into the conversation.

 

  "Okay honey, I have food downstairs. You can grab some if you want," she ruffles my hair, "Have fun you two!"

 

  Jeremy smiles to himself, "I like your mom."

 

  "Yeah, I like her too, you dork. Now let's make this pillow fort."

 

  And so we did.

 

  I couldn't find the sacred "blanket closet" that according to Jeremy everyone has. I even asked my mom about it and she was completely clueless and actually thought I was saying "racket deposit" for a solid minute.

 

  So I ended up just stealing any blankets we had laying down on the couches, took a few pillows and retreated upstairs, where Jeremy was already beginning The Great Blanket Fort Adventure Of 2018™

 

  It was semi-successful. Jeremy used the clothing pegs to clip all the blankets to various chairs he found around the house so that we had a stable structure to sleep under. It took us like seven attempts until we got the blankets not to slip out of the pegs.

 

  And now I'm sitting on the bed as Jeremy adds the finishing touches to make sure our structure is stable enough and doesn't accidentally break down in the middle of the night, leaving us to suffocate. As he furiously ties a knot for the hundredth time trying to get the damned blanket to stay securely around the table leg, I drift off and I finally realize what this whole situation reminds me of:

 

  We did something similar when were nine. He stayed over for a sleepover and mom refused to bring us an extra blanket, saying we'd get too warm (which is a completely valid concern, but once again, we were nine), so we started a riot. We then continued to refuse to sleep in the bed, and instead opted on taking the one blanket that we did have, throwing it over the table that was pressed against the wall, taking a pillow, and sleeping under there.

 

This one was different only because:

A) We weren't doing it out of protest.

B) The pillow fort we're making as seventeen-year-olds is a lot bigger than when when we were nine and simply threw a blanket over a table

C) This one was different because Jeremy had cancer this time.

 

Oh yeah.

 

Jeremy has cancer.

 

Forgot about that.

 

I audibly groan, but luckily Jeremy is too focused on tying his knot that he doesn't seem to notice. I look over at him and then the thought swarms in my head over and over again: _Jeremy has cancer Jeremy has cancer Jeremy has cancer—_

 

I throw my thoughts back into the inferno where they belong. I don't need to be reminded of the fact that Jeremy has a terminal illness while we're having fun making blanket forts. Just let me have this.

 

"Alright, done! I put the lamp inside too so we won't be blind," he lifts up one of the blankets to create a make-shift door.

 

Subjectively, The Great Blanket Fort Adventure Of 2018™ was a success. We both fit, it was comfy even though all I could scrounge was three pillows and two blankets. I decided giving Jeremy the extra pillow, because y'know, I'm not the one with cancer and all—

 

No. Shut up.

 

"Well, now we're here, what do you wanna talk about?" I look over at him and he's sitting under a blanket cross-legged with his extra pillow (lucky bastard) with a A6 book that he didn't have before.

 

"Hey, what's that?" I ask, pointing at it.

 

"Oh. Uh, this is like my... my thing."

 

I look at him, "uh... can you elaborate?"

 

Jeremy thinks about it for a minute and scrunches up his nose, "I dunno how to explain it! Like, do you know what health diaries are? Like your doctor gives them to you and stuff?"

 

I almost jump into a five hour rant, because I fucking despise health diaries, "Those fucking pieces of shit, oh my god. Yes. I know what they are. The doctor that helps with my asthma gave me one and I wrote in it twice and then threw it away."

 

"Damn. You seem passionate about this."

 

"I fucking hate health diaries."

 

He giggles slightly, "Well, like, this is my health diary. I keep it in my pocket. My doctor said I should write in it if cancer ever makes me sad or something, but like, when I'm sad I don't want to write about it, you get me? Then every time I go through my health diary I'm just gonna be reminded of all my bad times. I wanna write about things when I'm happy. And I dunno, I'm pretty happy right now, but I don't know what to write about," he rambles.

 

"Do you write like super mega personal stuff in there? Like if someone read it would your entire life be ruined and you'd have to move to Poland and change your name to Dmitri in order to hide your identity?"

 

He thinks for a moment, "Nah, not really. Unless you classify things like my favourite colour and my love for cats personal. It's kinda just a day-by-day rant-y book."

 

"Cool! Write about monkeys or something, I dunno."

 

Jeremy smiled, "You can just talk about stuff, dude. I'll either get an idea of what to write or I just won't make an entry today," he shoved it to the side and placed his head in his hands, waiting for me to speak, which was a lot of fucking pressure so I kinda spazzed out as my mind grabbed at straws.

 

"I, uh... Uhm. Nice... weather?" I blurt out.

 

Jeremy looks at me for a second before laughing, "Dude, it's 11PM, weather is non-existent at this point."

 

"Oh, can you blame me? I'm tired, c'mon!"

 

Suddenly Jeremy's expression turns sympathetic, "Oh shit, I'm sorry. Do you want to sleep? Sorry, I didn't like, think about whether or not—"

 

"Shit, man, calm down. It's okay. I'm not that tired, but in all honesty, I think you should get some sleep. You look a bit better now, but you looked half-dead earlier, so we gotta make sure that doesn't happen again," I joke, and he gives me this half-smile that literally screams: "everything is okay!!!" and it makes me feel at home.

 

"Yeah, I think I'm going to bed. You can keep the lamp on if you want! I'm pretty tired so I'll pass out regardless," he shrugs, taking his extra pillow and throwing his blanket over himself, "Night, dude."

 

I smile down at him, "Night."

 

I feel like I should be getting sleep too, so I switch the lamp off and stare at the "ceiling" of our blanket fort. I hear Jeremy's breath even out, so he's asleep. I grit my teeth, thinking of something that may or may not be a breach of privacy.

 

Okay, okay. Let's take time to assess the situation. He's asleep, he said the journal wasn't personal, and he doesn't have to know I looked through it or anything, right?

 

Yeah.

 

Let's go with that.

 

I carefully switch the lamp on, because I would be mortified if I woke him up, because:

 

A) He hasn't slept in nine years.

B) He'd catch me looking through his health diary which is pretty embarrassing.

 

I quietly snatch the journal from beside him and look at the front page. It has his doctor's name on it and a bunch of other medical bullshit, in other words, his room number, etc.

 

I decide to get this over with as soon as possible and I turn to a random page, somewhere in the middle, and I just start reading:

 

"And like I would love to have a dog. Like a corgi or something. They're super friendly, and also pretty dumb. Just like me! But it wouldn't be fair on me or the dog. What if I die before the dog does? My dad can't take care of a dog on his own. I don't know, I'd still just love to have like a lil' guy that I can pet all day.

Cats are great and I love them but they're very restricted on how many cuddles they give. I give my cat, Schnappi, like one (1) hour of petting and then she decides she's done and then she walks away!! Dogs you can pet for hours upon hours and they'll still love you!!! I dunno, I just really want a dog."

 

I smile and I look back down at the floor, where Jeremy's still sleeping soundly. Man, I'm sure if I had cancer and my doctor gave me a book to write about it in, I'd just wallow in self-pity and make the entire book about how depressing my life is. Meanwhile Jeremy literally just ranted about dogs for one page straight. Then again, I probably wouldn't write at all considering my stance on health diaries.

 

I can feel my cheekbones hurt from grinning. Why doesn't Jeremy just say what's on his mind? Maybe that's why I had trouble finding out his personality at first. This book is obviously just filled with things that he thinks constantly. If he said any of these things out loud I'd be down with that. I'd be able to figure out his personality to much easier. And talking about dogs for a good few hours? Yes please.

 

I turn to a different random page.

 

"I love colour-by-number books!! Like I can't draw at all, but being really little and having those little books where each number corresponded with a colour and then you'd colour in the picture was so much fun and it made me feel like: "Woah! Look at me! I'm an artist!"

 

  I remember having like one of those colour-by-number books when I was eight and it was about dogs and I LOVE dogs, okay??? And like I remember putting in so much effort to not go over the lines and to make sure every colour I used was like a good fit and I remember ripping out one of the pages I was really proud of that I spent like way too long  on and giving it to my dad. He put it on the fridge and everything. It really made me feel like I was being kinda useful, even though colouring by numbers requires little to no skill. I dunno. Just a nice thought that came back to me today.

 

I should get more colour-by-number books. I haven't done one in nine years."

 

I feel my heart swell a bit. Man, my first thought when I started talking to Jeremy again that first time was: "He doesn't act like he has cancer." And I get that that's kinda offensive. There is no way you can act like you have cancer. It's not an emotion or a personality...

 

  But like, you'd expect a cancer patient to be down in the dumps, wouldn't you? A bit pessimistic. Not really looking forward to anything.

 

  Jeremy's the opposite of that. Besides taking things a bit personally he's really giggly, he's not the most optimistic person ever, but he definitely sees things in a pretty bright light for somebody with a terminal illness, and he talks like he's going to do some great things one day, like he's going to live to do them.

 

  And somehow Jeremy's optimism was contagious, because I look around me and I remember: "Oh yeah, I'm sleeping in a pillow fort that Jeremy built because he refused to accept the privilege of sleeping in my bed. Oh yeah, that same guy keeps a health diaries where he talks about how he can't draw and how much he loves dogs." and it honestly just makes my insides go all smiley.

 

  Because looking down at Jeremy, the thought crosses my mind: "There's no way in fuck a happy guy like this can just die. That isn't a thing that happens. If he isn't worried about it, why should I be?"

 

  I know that's a half-lie, I'm sure that Jeremy is worried about his cancer, but he's not worried that he'll die. He's so confident in the fact that he's going to live, and somehow that infected me because I've never felt more confident in someone else's state of being.

 

I turn to the most recent page, and looking at the date I realize it's the day I yelled at him a few days ago. I grit my teeth as I hesitantly read the paragraph under it.

 

"Ugh, why don't people like, just talk to me like I'm a human being? Like goddamnit, I'm not a grenade. I'm not going to explode just because you said something mildly offensive. I'm the same person I was before I had cancer. I don't blame people for having stupid questions about my illness. Hell, I have stupid questions about my illness. I just want people to talk to me about Pokémon and Megaman and shit!!

 

Believe it or not, I don't like talking about what symptoms I've been experiencing recently, I don't like talking about whether or not cancer has taken a negative toll on me, I don't like talking about what surgery I'm gonna have next, because I don't fucking know. I don't know. That's the extent of it. I have no fucking clue. I don't want to be constantly reminded that I'm sick.

 

I wanna go stargaze with people and read books with someone and I want to go be with someone, but everyone instantly distanced myself from me after I told them I was sick, because of the whole: "Oh! Don't get too attached! They might die soon!" and it hurts. They're doing it to "protect" me, but it hurts."

 

I stop reading. There's a whole paragraph under it, but I refuse to read it. It really pains me to know that this whole paragraph is about me. It's like subtweeting but in health diary form. It's actually the worst. Because I made him feel like this.

 

I quickly glance down at Jeremy, and he's smiling and he's asleep and he's happy. And maybe I haven't exactly made up for everything I've done, but I've at least repaired a part of it, right?

 

I put the book back where it was, turn off the lamp and slam face-first into my pillow.

 

  And now I'm stuck between feeling like an absolute dick and feeling like a useful human being.

 

  On one hand, I made Jeremy feel like actual dog shit a few days ago when I freaked out and told him to 'have fun wuth cancer' by accident, and I probably made him feel like even worse dog shit back when we were 13 and I basically told him that our relationship of three years was completely meaningless to me (which it actually wasn't, but looking back at it, that's practically what I said,)

 

  On the other hand, I feel like I'm doing pretty okay. I got him out of his room, my mom likes him, he likes my mom, he barely stutters around me anymore, and he all around just seems happier and more comfortable.

 

  So maybe I wasn't doing great, and yeah, maybe if you look at it one way I'm doing more harm than good. But goddamnit if I don't somehow mend this situation and subconsciously allow myself to excuse all that shit I put him through all those years ago, I'll carry it to my grave.

 

  But I feel like finally I'm not just doing this for personal gain. Admittedly, the first time I went to go and apologize to Jeremy, I was doing it because I wanted to be the bigger person, and I wanted him to admire me for having the guts to do something like that (even though it was completely and utterly pathetic and made everything worse, but whatever.) So that was my original intent.

 

  However, I feel like more and more I'm doing this just because I like Jeremy and I personally think he deserves to be happy and to laugh every now and then. He needs a friend, right? I mean, technically Chloe's his friend, and I'm sure she treats him great, but I'm not sure if she's great in the whole 'my friend has cancer' department.

 

  I mean, neither am I, so maybe I should just keep my mouth shut.

 

  The only things I can hear in the mildly unsettlingly quiet room was Jeremy calmly breathing, and that was actually crazy reassuring. Like I said, my constant fear was: 'Oh god, what if Jeremy already died?' but hearing him actually breathe and to be in his presence is like a constant reassurance that he's okay, that he's here, and that I just need to stop fucking worrying.

 

  And so I did.

 

  Maybe I don't have everything figured out yet, but that's okay, right? I'm still young. It's okay to be confused.

 

  I'm okay, Jeremy's okay, my moms are okay, everything is okay.

 

  Then why doesn't it feel okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEALTH DIARIES FUCKING S U C K


	13. Yeah Okay: What The Everloving Fuck

 

  Everything was the same when I woke up. Same house, same room, same pillow fort, same invasive thoughts.

 

  The one thing that struck me as different was the fact that Jeremy wasn't next to me anymore.

 

  For a split second, a thought crawled back out of the inferno where it originally belonged and said: "Yeah. Yesterday didn't happen. It was all just a big dream." And I seriously considered it for a moment before recognizing the blanket fort that we built yesterday surrounding me.

 

  So I just shrugged it off. He probably went home. It kinda worried me that he walked home alone though. He's sick, I can't expect him to stay at my house for too long. His dad was probably worried about him. Who knows?

 

  Then I heard a vomiting sound from the bathroom.

 

  I instantly shot up, slamming the door open, running to the bathroom as fast as possible: "Jeremy? Jeremy, are you okay?"

 

  There he was, sitting against the wall, one hand over his mouth, trembling.

 

  "Holy shit, dude, are you okay?" I run up to him and he shakes his head vigorously.

 

  "I, uh, I kinda threw up..."

 

  "Dude, it's fine. You're fine. Let's get you cleaned up, okay? You think you ate something bad?" I reach for the paper towel roll.

 

  Jeremy shakes his head and looks at me unsurely. He lets out a shaky sigh before slowly removing his hand from his face, revealing blood trickling down his chin.

 

  "Holy shit..." I stand there stunned for a moment before grabbing the paper towel roll and shoving it in his direction, "You threw up blood?"

 

  Jeremy stayed silent as he took a few sheets of paper towels, rubbing off his face. I took a minute to take an actual good look at Jeremy, and despite the fact that he threw up, the bags under his eyes were  getting a lot better. In other words: He slept well. That in itself made me smile slightly.

 

"I, uhm... thanks," he hands me the roll back, "I... I told you this was a symptom of esophageal cancer before, right?"

 

"Yeah, but you glossed over it saying: 'It doesn't happen often or anything!'" I mock his voice jokingly

 

"I, uh..." he laughs awkwardly, "I-It happened yesterday too. That's why... That's why I had trouble sleeping ereyesterday."

 

That explains the bags he had under his eyes yesterday. I bite my lip and look at him for a minute and then avert my eyes, "Dude. That's like... not okay."

 

Jeremy sniffed, curling in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest.

 

"Wait, hey, hey," I take one of his hands in mine, urging him to look at me, "It's okay. Don't worry about it, alright? You got this covered, I swear.”

 

  "My chest burns, Mikey, it hurts really bad."

 

  I almost start tearing up, because I honestly have no idea what to do. I choke out: "I know, buddy. It's okay." I don't know how to deal with chest-burn or people throwing up blood. I'm just a stupid seventeen year old who cares about his friend and doesn't know shit about medical specifications.

 

Here I am, on my bathroom floor, sitting across this underweight kid who his classmates only know as "Oh, it's the cancer patient." My eyes were already burning but I almost felt tears begin to fall as soon as I saw that Jeremy looked like his eyes were burning too, probably because chest-burn must fucking suck.

 

  And I try to envision how Chloe, Jenna or Jake would react if they saw me like this. I'm the most confident person in the group, except for maybe Jake. I know how to keep my emotions controlled. Just block it all out, right?

 

  Yet here I am, tearing up just because I saw Jeremy cry.

 

  I've objectively gone through so much worse this week, yet this is the thing that makes me upset.

 

  I sigh, dropping his hand, "Don't cry, please," I stand up quickly and throw out the cup we keep our toothbrushes in and fill it with water, "Drink this, I think it'll help the chest-burn. Or not. I don't know, I'm pretty stupid—" I ramble and Jeremy cuts me off.

 

"I, uh. Don't worry. I'm pretty dumb too," he smiles up at me, "It's really sweet of you to help me, really. I can't think this can be easy for you, I'm a bit of a handful, I'm sorry—"

 

"Hey man, that's what friends are for, right?

 

He chugs the water and afterwards lets out a killer cough, "Oh, Jesus Christ."

 

"You okay?"

 

  "Yeah, yeah,” he takes a minute to clear his throat, “I think I'm fine now," he gives me a quick smile, "Thanks Mi—"

 

And in that moment there was a knock on the door. We both stiffened,

 

"Hey sweetie, is everything okay in there?" I heard my mama's voice. I curse silently. Mom's known to brush things off, but mama would definitely get really protective and shove as many home remedies down Jeremy's throat as possible. We decide to stay silent and wait until she opens the door.

 

She opened the door slowly. Us sitting on the cold tiled floor, Jeremy having tear streaks down his face, and me in general just looking like a complete and utter mess, was probably enough to concern her.

 

"Oh my god! Jeremy, baby, are you okay?" She rushes to him immediately, probably noticing the tear streaks. I back up immediately so that her motherly instincts can tell her what to do.

 

  Jeremy musters up a smile, "I'm fine, Mrs. Mell."

 

  I saw her frown, examining his expression, "Why were you crying?"

 

  Jeremy bit his lip and his eyes darted to where I was standing, probably hoping I'd explain what was happening. I panic and stammer out a quick response: "I, uh... uhm. He... he kinda threw up blood, and then he got some chest-burn, but it's fine now, right Jere?"

 

  Jeremy nods encouragingly.

 

  Mama gasps in the most exaggerated way possible and kneels down to where Jeremy is on the floor, cupping his cheek, scanning his face and checking for any damage. She pouted, "I'm going to get you some cold water, okay? I'll be back in a minute."

 

  She stands up, shoots both of us one last concerned look, and then goes to the kitchen to get some water.

 

  I look down at Jeremy, sitting back down next to me where I used to be before Mama rushed in. He had a dopey smile on his face. I note this, "Hey? You okay there?"

 

  "Your mom is... she's so nice?"

 

  "Yeah. All moms are. That's just what moms do," I joke.

 

  "Yeah. Haha... All of them," Jeremy tries to add onto my half-assed attempt at a joke and then suddenly I freeze.

 

  Jeremy's mom left him. Shit. That was an incredibly douchebag thing to say. Holy shit. Why am I so good at unintentionally being an asshole, fuck, fuck, fuck—

 

  "Well, I mean, I guess not all of them. Some of them are pretty bad. I guess I just happened to get a cool one. Actually, I stand corrected. Two cool ones," I try to make up for my previous statement.

 

  "Yeah! Yeah," Jeremy half-heartedly adds, but his shoulders drop so I took that as a win. Jeremy doesn't need me to outright say: 'Oh yeah, except your mom.' He just needs to know that I understand what he's going through, right?

 

  I think back to what Jeremy wrote in his health journal: “Ugh, why don't people like, just talk to me like I'm a human being? Like goddamnit, I'm not a grenade. I'm not going to explode just because you said something mildly offensive.” I internally groan.

 

Jeremy’s right. He’s not a grenade. I need to stop treating him like one. Just because he flinches at something I say, doesn’t mean he’ll explode and our friendship will be over. I just need to calm down.

 

I try to keep that in mind, but I fail that sentiment almost instantly as I tense immediately when I feel Jeremy rest his head on my shoulder. My mind starts racing through a different million things that I should say. I panic and spill out a messy string of words: “Oh, uh, uhm, I, uh, uh, what are you... what ya doin’ there, bud?”

 

He wrapped his arm around my arm, “I ‘unno, all that throwing up made me sleepy...” I can feel his hair tickle my face and I’m completely freaking out at this point, no need to sugarcoat it, “Didn’t sleep much either...” he trails off.

 

“Oh! Uhm, well. Uh. Then... go ahead? I guess?”

 

He leans into me a bit more before his breathing evens out. Mama, if you don’t come through that door in the next five minutes I will fling myself off a cliff and set a hex on you seconds before my soul departs my body—

A hear a door click open and I breathe a sigh of relief, hoping she’ll save me.

 

I can feel my face burn, but that’s because I’m probably embarrassed that my mama’s gonna find me like this. Yeah. That’s why my face is burning.

 

I feel like I have a bunch of butterflies in my stomach, which at the time I assumed is because I felt guilty. I felt guilty for convincing Jere to come stay at my place, while he easily could’ve stayed home and his dad would’ve been infinitely better at helping him with this stuff, considering he’s more educated on Jeremy’s medical issues.

Yeah. That’s why I felt like I had a bunch of butterflies in my stomach.

 

My mom shuffled in with ice water in her hands, placing it on the counter, lowering herself down on the floor.

 

“He’s asleep?” I say unsurely, and it came out sounding like a question, which wasn’t necessarily my intention.

 

“Yeah,” Mama confirms.

 

“Oh. Okay. Uhm...”

 

She laughs, “Oh, Michael. I... This is really sweet of you, y’know? I know I kind of had to talk you into it, but I’m happy to see you’re committing to this friendship, okay? You might think I’m doing this for Jeremy and his father’s sake, but this is for you too, mahal.”

 

I take a minute to process her words. Whenever Mama talks I always need to take a few seconds to register what she said. Her voice is really soothing, to the point that I get lost in it sometimes and forget that she’s actually trying to tell me something.

 

I bite my lip, and I can feel Jeremy’s soft breaths on my neck, “I... How?”

 

“I think you need someone like Jeremy right now, okay?” You’d think her having a thick accent would make all of her words seem slurred, but instead they made each word more emphasized, which made every point she tried to make hit way harder.

 

“But why?

 

“You’ll know soon enough,” she gives me a soft smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling, “Hold on to him, okay?”

 

I want to argue, saying that her response is ominously vague, and that in reality she isn’t giving me any real reason to keep in touch with Jeremy, and something in me tells me there isn’t even a reason.

 

But somehow I’ve never felt more compelled to hold on to a person in my life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh i’d die for comments  
> even if your comment says “this is shit” i’ll still be like oh my god thank you so much!!!!


	14. Jeremy Is Exceedingly Jewish And I Am Exceedingly Stupid

  Okay, I know I told Jake that I didn't actually care about Jeremy all that much, but that belief is crumbling bit by bit faster than I can count.

 

  We've been hanging out once a day for the past week, and honestly hearing the fact that it's been nothing but seven days is enough to put me in a state of whiplash. A week doesn't sound like much until you consider the fact that our hangouts lasted as long as seven hours and then were usually followed up by a super chill twelve hour voice call on Skype.

 

  In other words: I think I'm getting a little bit too attached.

 

  Sometimes the fact that Jeremy has cancer just completely escapes me. My mind doesn't even stuff it in my long term memory, it just throws it right out of my brain to make room for random facts about giraffes.

 

  Like Tuesday, Jeremy left the call unexpectedly and when I asked about it after he came back, he explained that his dad was talking to him about a surgery he wanted to undergo to maybe get rid of his tumor.

 

  Surgery.

 

  Cancer.

 

  Haha.

 

  Oh yeah.

 

  This fucking sucks.

 

  Jeremy's given me his entire life story, explained to me everything he wants to be, everything he wants to do, everyone he wants to meet, everywhere he wants to go, and oh yeah—he has cancer. And the chance of him living to do any of the aforementioned things is getting slimmer and slimmer every day that goes by where he doesn't have proper medication.

 

  I don't ask Jeremy about his surgery, I don't ask him questions about his cancer, I never try to have a sappy sentimental thirty minute session where I say: "I know it's hard, kiddo—" because he already knows it's hard. He himself in his health diary said that he himself was pretty uneducated on his own cancer.

 

  And that's devastating to me. I couldn't even imagine being slowly killed and ripped apart by something you don't know anything about. I can't even imagine it, yet Jeremy has to live it.

 

  I've admittedly gotten a tiny bit overprotective. I found out that Jeremy liked video games and introduced him to some of my favourites. He ended up liking them, which was a good thing!

 

  Bad thing: I spent like three hours mindlessly scrolling through articles to see if the blacklight from my TV screen would harm someone with esophageal cancer (i.e Jeremy) in any way. Yeah. Not my proudest moment.

 

  I just really want him to be okay. I want him to wake up and just not have cancer anymore. Every time he's sad I try to bring up a happy moment of his to make him feel better. According to him, his bar mitzvah is his happiest memory:

 

  "Yeah, but it was like extra special! Because we flew to Israeli for it, and that made it like ten times cooler," Jeremy explained fidgeting with the broken part of his technology project.

 

  "What did you even do there?"

 

  "Like, I sung a part of the Torah, which is like kinda the Jewish Bible? Like, every synagogue has one Torah, it's like some ancient scripture. In other words, singing a part of it is a big deal. Like if I messed up one of those lines all those Orthodox Jews surrounding me would've drowned me instantly," he said.

 

  "So after that? Do you just kinda like... stand there and say: 'Okay, I'm an even cooler jew now,' and then you go home?"

 

  "Sort of? I mean, first everyone throws candy at me. You're not even allowed to eat the candy, though. Bummer. It's like supposed to be a metaphor of: "Oh! We hope the rest of your life will be sweet onwards!" but in reality it just made me and many other Jewish thirteen year olds sad that we couldn't eat candy," he rambles, breaking the broken part of his technology project even further, to the point that is definitely beyond repair and he definitely just fucked himself.

 

"So is that like considered almost like the Jewish version of baptism? Like after that you're a Certified Jew™?"

 

"Eh, I mean, kinda? But it's more like, when you turn thirteen, you're a man! So it's more like an aging thing than it is a baptism thing," Jeremy smiles to himself softly, "I dunno, I guess I was always just kinda bullied and made fun of, and y'know... uh... Being a man made me feel... more safe? I guess? I mean, I know I wasn't technically a man, I was just a 13-year-old boy. But it gave me a tiny boost of temporary confidence!"

 

  So there was that. His bar mitzvah was his happiest memory, and I honestly hope to create some more happy memories with him. I'm not sure anything I do is ever going to top flying to Israeli to become a big cool manly man, but I'm hoping I can at least be a close second.

 

To sum it all up: Jeremy and I have been friends for a week and four days and I could not be happier.

 

  That happiness was followed by an inhumane amount of guilt.

 

  What if that hadn't happened?

 

Y'know... the thing.

 

The thing I dubbed as "The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done On This Bitch Of an Earth."

 

What if I hadn't broken up with Jeremy in such an awful way? What if I let him off easy as Chloe had suggested, and continued to be his friend? I would've had a cancer-free Jeremy for another solid four years.

 

  Four fucking years.

 

I missed four entire years of this absolutely lovely human being just because 10-year-old me decided to be an asshole,

 

That guilt ate me alive for a little while. Had one restless night over it, no big deal. I've had worse. Every now and then though that thought pop back up from the depths of hell where it once belonged and I'll feel like shit for a solid thirty minutes before I drown my sorrows in either:

 

A) Playing video games.

B) Eating mass amounts of ice cream.

C) Talking to Jeremy.

 

My choice ended up being C more often than not.

 

  This was one of those times. One of those times where the thought pops back up from the depths of hell where it once belonged and forces me to go through with option C.

 

  Going to the Heere household was almost second nature now. Usually Jeremy came over to my house, considering I'm the one with the gaming system, but usually I have to go pick him up first.

 

  Like I said: I'm getting maybe a tiny bit overprotective. I just don't want him walking alone. Our neighborhood isn't inherently unsafe, but I'll be damned if I even dare take any chances.

 

  Mr. Heere's super inviting though, so that makes it all the more welcoming.

 

Something was a bit off today though. I went to go knock on the door but I could hear Jeremy talking to someone on the other side. That isn't abnormal though, right? He and Chloe are friends, right? He's probably just talking to her, they hang out a lot.

 

Then I heard what Jeremy was saying:

 

"Come here, baby—"

 

If that is Chloe fucking Valentine I am actually going to kill everyone in the world, what the fuck, oh my God, what is the point, life is meaningless, Jeremy could brutally and painfully die tonight and I would feel absolutely nothing—

 

Wait.

 

Chloe's a lesbian.

 

Okay, that's out the window, but that still leaves the question of who the fuck Jeremy is calling baby, and why the fuck I do not have knowledge of them.

 

I take a deep breath, and slam the door open.

 

When I open the door, I quickly realize that I am a dumbass (a pre-established fact, but this only enhances it even further) because Jeremy's sitting on his bed cooing to his cat, not another human being.

 

Okay, maybe I need to fucking calm down.

 

"Oh, hey Michael!" Jeremy says, smiling innocently, like I didn't just experience all five stages of grief in the last thirty seconds or so.

 

I don't say anything and stare down at his cat silently.

 

"Oh! I believe you and Snoop haven't met yet. I told you she refused to climb off the roof and stuff, right? Well I got her down!" He lifts her up enthusiastically and shoves her in my direction, "She's my baby, I love her so much, you have no idea."

 

  The adrenaline rush I got from a few seconds ago quickly wore off and I realize how dorky my friend is, calling his cat Snoop. I am completely devoid of any real emotion. I have like a maximum amount of emotions I'm allowed to experience everyday, and I way surpassed the maximum after I heard Jeremy call someone something affectionate. That was of course before realizing that it was an animal.

 

  In other words, when I get killer emotionally exhausted I can only get out half-assed lackluster responses, including the following sentence I blurted out, because it was the first thing my mind could piece together, "What an absolute unit."

 

  "I know right! She's a legend, I love her," he placed her in his lap, "I'm allergic though. Life sucks. God must hate me."

 

  "You're allergic to cats? Then why do you have one?"

 

  "Because I love cats! And, and... and—" he's cut off by a high-pitched sneeze and he looks dazed for a full second afterwards for returning back to reality, "I—uh, that definitely makes me love them a little bit less, but they're still pretty rad, man."

 

  "They're killer."

 

  "They sure are!" Jeremy completely ignores the fact that my replies add absolutely nothing to the conversation, and what a legend he is for doing so. Literally every other friend I have would've gotten pissed at me for "half-assing our friendship." (Cough—TOTALLY NOT CHLOE—Cough)

 

  I exhale, every muscle in my body feels looser, my shoulders go slump, and I feel all around more relaxed.

 

  Man, who the fuck cares that I wasted four years of friendship just because 10-year-old me was a moron? All I have to do is make the most of the next couple of years—

 

  Or months.

 

  Maybe weeks.

 

  God fucking damnit. Jeremy has cancer. I need to stop fucking forgetting. Every time I remember I feel the exact same way I felt when I first found out he had cancer. The feeling of my world falling apart doesn't get any less overwhelming, and it sure as hell doesn't lower in intensity. This fucking sucks.

 

  All I can hope for is that Jeremy's dad gets his shit together and finally decides on a surgery so that his son can be healthy and happy and so that I won't have to lose my best friend. I really care about this kid and I've barely known him two weeks. I can't lose him yet.

 

  I think back to what mama said: "Hold on to him, okay?"

 

  And I will.

 

  I swear to God I will.


	15. My Best Friend Apparently Has A Secret Friend Who Is Like Half The Size Of Me

  A lot has happened over the past three days. One of the things that happened included the fact that Jeremy may have found a "treatment."

 

  You might be thinking: "Well, that's super vague. Can you please explain to us what kind of treatment it is?" Yeah. I don't know. "Treatment" is the only word he used to describe it. This could either be incredibly good or incredibly bad. Knowing my luck, it's probably the latter.

 

  If it's a treatment for his cancer, then I'm ecstatic, but on the other hand I'm kinda not. All those movies about cancer I watched when I was little always showed treatments going horribly wrong. Of course, that was just to amp up the drama, but I couldn't help but be paranoid.

 

 

  It scares me. I never get paranoid over anything. I'm incredibly smooth-sailing, I'm the stereotypical stoner guy that goes to your environmental club that everyone hates, who has stickers on his backpack that says shit like: "Go with the flow." Yeah. You know one of those. Don't act like you don't.

 

  Back to my original point, why am I constantly so worried about Jeremy then? It's not like I haven't had friends before. Jake, Chloe, Jenna and I have all been attached at the hip for ages. Yeah, sure, I care about them a lot. If anything were to happen to them, I'd be worried out of my mind.

 

  Jeremy, though? The guy's fine. He hasn't been in any accidents. He hasn't displayed any serious symptoms in a little while.He has some kind of "treatment" readily available apparently. He's smiling, he's laughing, he's happy.

 

 

  Then why am I not?

 

  Why do I have this constant tug in my chest whenever I see how much skinnier he's getting? Why do I freak out every time he coughs? Why does my heart wrench every time he says he's lost his appetite? Why am I fucking worrying so much?

 

  Jeremy's supposed to be worrying about his cancer. Jeremy's supposed to be the one who who's freaking out. Jeremy's supposed to be the one losing sleep because he won't know if he'll live another day. Not me.

 

 

  I'm not supposed to attach myself to a person so much to the point that I can't go a minute without thinking about him. Without thinking about the fact that he has cancer.

 

 

  It doesn't take a genius to see that I'm having a rough day. Actually, a complete and utter dumbass can see it. That's why I can see it.

 

  My coffee was bitter, I got too much Literature homework, my curtains were too see-through so I woke up early, and the person I consider my best friend at the moment has cancer. Whatever. Could be worse.

 

 

  So my mood's already pessimistic, and I obviously started overthinking this whole "treatment" thing, and my mind somehow managed to convince itself that there is a 110% of said "treatment" going wrong.

 

 

  And that's why I'm currently walking to the empty Heere household. Yeah. I'm just going to sit on their porch alone for an hour until Jeremy comes back so that I can get his mind off things as fast as possible. Is it pathetic? Kinda. Is it stupid? Oh, yeah, definitely.

 

 

  However, I quickly realized that I was indeed not alone. There was someone else sitting on the porch. Okay. Yeah. That's not creepy at all. Random girl that looks like she's twelve sitting in front of this completely empty house. Mr. Heere and Jeremy aren't here.

 

  My natural instinct is: "This is how every single horror movie ever starts. Let's turn around. Go play some Battletoads with Jenna or something. Jeremy's probably fine."

 

  For some reason my mind decided against this perfectly logical and sound instinct, and decided to move towards the house instead of away from it.

 

 

  My footsteps must have been louder than initiallyanticipated, because as soon as I started walking towards the house, thegirl's head shot up.

 

Okay. This is the partof the horror movie where she takes out a Swiss army knife and stabs meright in the dick. It's been a good seventeen years, but at least wedie as men.

 

  "Oh! Hey! You must be Michael!" She sounds really excited and enthusiastic, however her cute façade was not enough to hide her murderous intentions. This was the end for me. At my funeral I wish for my corpse to be mounted--

 

  Wait. Bitch knows my name. What the fuck.

 

 

  I should probably say something that will scare off the small serial killer, only inches away from where I was standing, instead, my maggot brain decided on saying:  "Uh..."

 

  "Oh! Right! I'm Christine," she sticks her hand out, smiling.

 

  Ha! The oldest trick in the book! The old handshake-and-chokehold maneuver! Ha! Well! I have nothing to lose! Let's find out what it's like to die!

 

 

  I take it gleefully, awaiting my inevitable demise, however I unfortunately did not drop dead in that moment.

 

  "Uh, how do you know my name?"

 

  "Oh! Jeremy talks about you all the time."

 

  Dear God, the serial killer already got Jeremy. That "treatment" must've been a medical scheme in which she brutally murdered both him and his father. Can't wait for my corpse to be publicly displayed on Buzzfeed Unsolved.

 

 

  "Uhm... Christine? That's your name?"

 

  "Yup! That's me!" Serial killers don't usually take this long to kill their victims, right?

 

  "Cool. What are you doing here?"

 

  "Oh! Jeremy went for some medical check-up thing. He's not gonna make it. I'm just here to cheer him up when he comes back home," she explains, smiling.

 

  I almost dry-heave as soon as I hear "He's not going to make it." and I very noticeably cover my mouth, making it very obvious that I just almost vomited.

 

 

  "Woah, woah! Are you okay?" She rushes to my side, clapping me on the back. I have no idea what she's trying to achieve, but I appreciate the effort.

 

  "He's... He's not going to make it?"

 

  She looks at me and suddenly her expression drops: "Oh! No, no, no. Not like that! Jeremy's just fine! He's alive! I meant that the doctor isn't going to allow him to get the surgery. Jeremy was too hopeful when he signed up for it. He isn't going to make it through the tests and stuff that the doctor gives him. That's what I meant."

 

  I can't help but taste the vomit in my mouth anyway, because something about hearing someone else put Jeremy in the same sentence as something that's usually used as a euphemism for death was too much for my little maggot brain.

 

 

  "Wait, so that was the treatment? A check-up?"

 

  "Yeah. He and his dad are grabbing at straws at this point. Jeremy's really young, he's underweight, he was never healthy to begin with. It's gonna be hard to find a procedure that's actually going to do more good than harm."

 

  "Damn. So you like his medical expert or something?"

 

  "Not at all. I've been his best friend since like eighth grade though. As soon as I heard about his whole situation, I did like a bunch of research! I just want my bud to be okay, you know?" she's playing around with some kind of USB stick.

 

  I definitely relate. The sentence 'I just want my bud to be okay,' describes this situation pretty perfectly.

 

 

  I realize quickly that if we keep talking about Jeremy and cancer in the same sentence, my stomach would not react appropriately. So I decided to change the subject to the USB stick: "Hey, what's on that?"

 

 

  "I have like a bunch of musical bootlegs on this USB drive," she lifts it up so I can see, "I dunno. The check-up definitely without a doubt didn't go well, I know some musicals will make him feel better."

 

  "What musicals you got?"

 

  She smiles, "Oh, y'know. I have Rent, Next to Normal, Falsettos, Wicked, and I also have Chicago, but the person filming the bootleg's hands are so shaky that the chance of us watching that is like, lower than zero percent," she fidgeting with the USB drive a lot, almost like she can't sit still.

 

  "Uh, can I join you guys?"

 

  "Yeah, sure!"

 

  "Can you give like a brief explanation of like the musicals and stuff? So I can at least be kinda efficient when I watch them, y'know," I laugh awkwardly.

 

  Suddenly her heads snaps to my direction and her eyes light up. It reminds me exactly of how Jeremy looked like when he talked about musicals. Damn, these two goofs were made to be friends.

 

  In over-exaggerated detail and crazy hand movements, she went into the depths of the plot without giving too much away. Every minute she'd say: 'Wait, no, that's a spoiler—'

 

  From what I could gather from her explanations, this is the best summary I can possibly come up with:

 

  Rent: Gay.

 

  Next to Normal: Sad ghosts.

 

 

  Falsettos: Gay.

 

  Wicked: Lesbian witch #1 and lesbian witch #2 are best friends and then lesbian witch #1 dies.

 

  Chicago: Murder.

 

  Christine started over-animatedly talking about how each and everyone of the musicals were like a big a part of her childhood or something. I don't really know. I wasn't paying attention. Then again, neither was she. Her eyes looked out of focus, and she was playing with the USB drive so much that I don't think she was even aware of the fact that she was still speaking.

 

  Alright. Apparently twelve-year-old murderer girl is not twelve, nor is she a murderer.

 

 

  Also, I took note of the fact that they became friends in the eighth grade, which was maybe a few months after I did the asshole thing as an asshole ten year old.

 

  "But yeah, that's about it," she ends, "So you and Jeremy, huh? Y'all are super close! One day while we were just sitting and talking, and he was super giggly and blushy, and then I asked him about it, and he told me about you. So, uh, thanks! Keeping my friend happy is hard, and I can't do it alone, so it's nice to have some backup, you know?"

 

  Jeremy was giggly and blushy about me? Suddenly my mind decides to scream as loud as it possibly can. Whether or not that scream was a positive or a negative thing, I have no fucking clue. Like I said: maggot brain. My mind can't even comprehend it's own incomprehensiveness.

 

  My expression remains emotionless though. "Well, uh. Thanks to you too," I hesitate, "Uh, man." I add just in case.

 

  She nods and starts playing with the USB stick again, waving her legs back and forth. I feel like that's a pretty good sign that our conversation is over. I put on my headphones, jam the volume up to a hundred, pull my hood over my head and I wait.

 

  Christine and I aren't talking anymore, but I still feel a small sense of comfort around her. We're both here for the same reason and for the same person. Even if we have little to nothing in common. Maybe she's killer at Mariokart. God knows.

 

  I let the music take me.


	16. My Best Friend’s Secret Friend Who Is Half The Size Of Me Teaches Me How To Knit

After listening to the entirety of my "CHILL JAM$" playlist not once, but twice in a row, Jeremy finally showed up. He looked absolutely miserable.

 

Christine instantly stood up, ran over to him, and engulfed him in a hug. He weakly wrapped his arms around her neck and stuffed his face into the crook of her shoulders. Jeremy is a whole one and a half heads taller than her, so this would be pretty comical if it weren't for the fact that Jeremy looked like he wanted the pavement to swallow him up.

 

  I awkwardly move over towards the hugging pile and put an arm on Jeremy's shoulders. I don't know how to comfort him physically at all, but Goddamnit, I'm going to try.

 

  I hear Christine whisper a repetitive mantra that sounds vaguely like "It's going to be okay" over and over again. Damn, Christine is suspiciously prepared for this. There's no way this can happen that often, right?

 

  Then Jeremy pulled away and he gave Christine a weak smile: "I, uh... my dad's going to g-go visit some family friends. He, uh... he needs some... su-support. Right now. You guys wanna go play Kirby Dream Course or, uh, or s-something?

 

  He's obviously upset, so I try to get him to elaborate on it: "You wanna talk about it?"

 

  "I..." he sighs, "I don't know. I don't know why I thought the doctor would even allow me to through with it. I just want this... this thing out of my body. I don't know. I guess I got a bit too optimistic. I don't know anymore. Let's go play some Kirby."

 

  And that was the end of that.

 

We ended up squashed together on the couch, all previous tension in the air slowly dwindling away until the only tension that came from the situation was me getting pissed off at Jeremy because of how good he is at Kirby Dream Course. Like seriously. It's inhumane.

 

Jeremy either had amazingly beyond average luck, or he has spent night and day playing and practicing this game for all seventeen years he has been alive. I think it's a crazy combination of the former and the latter, but either way, I started getting competitive.

 

"What the fuck, how the fuck, how do you get three fucking stars in one round. This is bullshit," I start running my mouth, as Christine yells encouragement in my ear and shoves popcorn in my mouth.

 

I hear Jeremy giggle, as my character somehow passes out for the second time these last few rounds. I essentially just got two Lose A Turns in a row. Jeremy decides to comment on this: "Wow. What a tragedy," he said sarcastically.

 

"I am going to report you to the authorities."

 

"Go ahead."

 

"You're hacking."

 

"Yeah, Michael. I'm using kill aura on Kirby fricking Dream Course. Sure."

 

"You can say fuck."

 

Jeremy tsked, "I can't swear. A child is here."

 

"Oh. Christine?" My character finally doesn't pass out for the round, I aim my character and try to get a decent hit. One of Jeremy's stars isn't too far away from me. If luck is on my side, I'll be able to get it pretty easily.

 

"No, me."

 

"You literally said the word shit, like a week ago."

 

  "Yes. It is my biggest regret."

 

  I can't come up with any specific targeted insults, so I say the first thing that comes to mind: "I am going to shove a closed umbrella down your throat, and then I'm going to open it."

 

I shoot my character, and it ends up hitting the star. I hear a loud cheer from Christine, and I look over at Jeremy and he has this massive smile on his face: "Good job, dude! That was a good shot."

 

"What the fuck? You're not allowed to be wholesome? You're supposed to tell me to go rip all my toenails off? This is against the law?"

 

"What's the point of you ripping your toenails off? You probably have extra anyway."

 

"Jeremy, that's the most terrifying thing I've heard in my entire seventeen years of living."

 

Christine has been eerily quiet. I don't know much about the girl, but from what I've seen it's unlike her to stay so silent. Except for the odd here and there little: "You can do it!" she was being suspiciously calm.

 

Jeremy must've realized, because he looked nervous: "Oh God, Christine. You're quiet. What are you planning?"

 

"Does Michael know how to knit?" She asks.

 

Jeremy looks at me for confirmation and I shake my head. He replies: "No."

 

Christine's eyes light up. Oh God, what have I gotten myself into, "Michael! We have to teach you how to knit! Jeremy and I have already made like, fishtail friendship bracelets for each other, but that's old-school. We can knit like a really really miniature scarf, and then we can have like, super radical knitted friendship bracelets!"

 

"Oh, yeah, let's do that! Michael?" Jeremy looks at me, waiting for me to agree to this.

 

"I mean, uh, yeah, sure." Whatever, it sounds like fun. If I come home and I tell my moms I know how to knit now, they'll probably force Christine and Jeremy to come over as much as possible, because they'll think that they are beneficial to my social skills somehow, and I am 100% not complaining about that.

 

"Alright, what colour do you guys want?" Christine asks, taking out her backpack and rummaging around in it.

 

"Pink, please," Jeremy says.

 

"Pastel?"

 

"What do you think?"

 

Christine puts an entire ball of pastel pink wool in the middle of our make-shift circle that we've created, and it seemed like excessively too much wool if all we're making is a friendship bracelet.

 

"Alright, Michael. What do you want?"

 

"Do you have like, hot pink?"

 

Christine somehow magically has some, even though hot pink wool sound like a cryptid gone wrong. She takes some green for herself, because 'pink and green are complimentary colours, Jeremy! I don't care if it doesn't fit with the pink scheme!'

 

"Okay, I'll make a friendship bracelet for Michael, Jeremy, you make one for me, and then Michael can make one for Jeremy," she looks up at us for clarification. Damn. They take this shit seriously.

 

Jeremy nods like this is his first day in military camp and the chief just asked if they are willing to give up their lives for their country. I nod like the cashier asked me if I wanted a bag for my groceries.

 

So now I'm sitting here, working with some pastel pink wool, holding two sticks that look like a wild combination of drum sticks and chopsticks, all rolled into one little item of elderly fun.

 

Christine laid out the basics for me, and knitting ended up being surprisingly easy. She had to begin for me, because God knows I'll never be able to make the hook that you're supposed to start off with. The rest of the process was pretty easy going though.

 

We talked about video games, and bad movies, and why the 80's was arguably the worst and best time in the universe ever, and how twistable crayons are useless and should vanish from the face of the earth, all while knitting.

 

"Not gonna lie, this is fun," I finally admit. If I told thirteen-year-old me that in the future I would be sitting with a couple of pals, knitting, he'd call me a loser. Which I probably am, but hey. I've been worse.

 

  "Michael, I've known you for like what? Four hours? But I'd totally die for you," Christine announced.

 

  "Your love is requited. I would trust you with my firstborn child," I reply.

 

  Jeremy furrows his brow and ticks the pride patch sewed onto my hoodie, "Firstborn? You are gay? How would you have a child? You mean first-adopted?"

 

  "Exactly. I don't have to trust her with my firstborn child if I don't end up having one. She, however, has a life, and if given the chance, as she has promised, she must die for me. She has pledged that she would die for me, and I have pledged my firstborn child who will never exist. I get free service, and I don't have to give anything in return."

 

  Christine shrugged, "All is fair in love and war, I guess."

 

  After a few seconds of mindless mumbling, Christine announced that she was done, and Jeremy was shortly after. I took a full ten minutes more than they did to finish mine, but considering it was my first time, I was strangely proud of myself. I just knitted something. That's pretty rad.

 

  We all exchange bracelets, and I suddenly feel vastly inferior, because after Christine gives me the bracelet she made for me, I realize she used tons of different greens and did a bunch of cool braid designs. I tried to be all fancy with mine, but compared to Christine it was pretty mediocre.

 

  Despite my insecure knitting, Jeremy announced: "I am going to be wearing this every single day of my life ever."

 

  "Now, that we're done knitting, does this mean..." Christine smiled in Jeremy's direction.

 

  "No way. You brought some bootlegs?" Jeremy gasped melodramatically. Oh my god. I love these dorks.

 

  She flashed the USB drive just in our peripheral vision, fidgeting with it excitedly. It had a big heart on it and it said in big bold letters on the lid: "MB," which by process of elimination I could only assume stood for "Musical Bootlegs."

 

  "Michael! We give you the honours. You know I explained all the musicals to you, right? Which one do you wanna watch?" Christine throws the USB stick at me at approximately 70m/ph.

 

  "Uh... which one was the gay one?"

 

  "They're all gay."

 

  "Y'know, the one with the AIDS?"

 

  "That's either Falsettos or Rent. Which one?"

 

  "Uhhh, you said Tracie Thoms plays in it, right?"

 

  "Tracie Thoms plays in both of them."

 

  I rack my brain, trying to remember any information Christine gave me: "You said she plays a lesbian."

 

  "She plays a lesbian in both of them."

 

  "It has like crazy fever dream music."

 

  "That's Falsettos!" Christine looks over to Jeremy, whose smile completely drops, "Oh, come on, Jere. You've watched this musical a million times."

 

  "Doesn't matter. I'm gonna cry."

 

  "So will Michael, so it's okay." Christine pats his head

 

   Suddenly I register what she said: "Wait what?"

 

"Oh yeah, it's sad one," Chritine clarifies, after I already picked the musical, leaving me with no way to take back my answer, in other words I have doomed not only myself, but Jeremy, and quite possibly the rest of my endorphins.

 

"Maybe we shouldn't watch that one then—"

 

Jeremy suddenly interrupted: "No, no! It's really good, promise. Sorry. I think you'll like it, Mishi."

 

I freeze. "Wait. Mishi?"

 

"Yeah? Oh sorry, is that a weird nickna—"

 

"No! Uh, that's, uhm..." I look at Christine unsurely, and she's urging me to go on. Ugh. She knows exactly what's going on. My eyes snap back to Jeremy, "That's really cute."

 

Jeremy stares at me for a second and smiles, and thank the Lord for Christine, because she interjects hastily: "Alright! Falsettos time!"

 

Jeremy's stare lingers on me for a second longer and then he shakes his head, snapping out of it, "Oh, uh, I'll get some blankets."

 

This sleepover is going to be the death of me.


	17. This Sleepover Is All Good And Fun But It's Still A Massive Dick Move From My Brain's Side Of Things To Subject Me To All Of These Stupid Unidentifiable Yet Sad Emotions, Like Seriously, Fuck Off Brain, You Were Store-Bought Anyway

We started watching the bootleg, and straight off the bat I had little to no idea what was going on.

Jeremy's house felt so weird when it was midnight. The windows' dim light creeped in, the silhouette of the naked trees outside burning into the carpet. The only black light was radiating from the television. It was so disorienting, that my mind could only focus at one thing at a time. That one thing being the musical bootleg.

The musical starts off with four jews saying "bitch" approximately seventy one times consecutively, so I can definitely give myself a little bit of leeway for not knowing exactly what's going on.

Jeremy and Christine are really into it though, so I can't bring myself to ask any questions.

  After around the second song, where all the characters were singing about hepatitis and stuff, I started catching on, and I considered getting some clarification from Jeremy and Christine, but they were huddled up together in some blankets, looking incredibly focused. The world could catch on fire and they would be none the wiser.

  I decided that instead of inching closer to them, hoping that they'd read my confused expression and then explain everything to me in better detail, I should just watch the bootleg instead and wait until I start piecing things together. And so I did.

  It was an emotional rollercoaster.

  I started catching on to the plot around halfway through, and actually understanding what was going on made it a lot more enjoyable, and even though according to the both of them, they'd watched this musical hundreds of times, they still cried their hearts out.

  Admittedly, so did I. I'm not one to cry over movies and stuff, especially not in front of other people, but there was this sense of comfort I felt around these two dorks.

  Damn, I just cried over a musical, didn't I? So far today I've knitted friendship bracelets, freaked out when Jeremy called me a cute nickname, and cried over a musical bootleg.

  I'm the kinda person 13-year-old me would trip and then proceed to kick the shit out of in the halls.

  After the last song, "Falsettoland (Reprise)" Christine looked like she figured out her family just died and Jeremy looks like his spouse just went off to war.

  I looked like I just dropped my ice cream cone. Maybe I'm not as emotionally involved as I should be, or maybe Jeremy and Christine were more emotionally involved as  _they_  should be. God knows.

  "All this crying is making me exhausted," Christine complains through tears, laying her head on my shoulder. Usually I'd be repulsed by that, but Christine is such a small happy ball of trustworthiness that it actually made me calm down more than it made me tense.

  "You wanna go to bed?" I ask, leaning my head on hers, to which she responds with a yawn.

  "Can you get me some blankets from the blanket closet, Jere?" She asks. The blanket closet?

  I sputter: "Wh—wha—Unbelievable!" The blanket closet is real? It isn't just a myth? Why do Christine and Jeremy both know what a blanket closet is? How is this possibly a common occurrence? Why don't I have a blanket closet? Am I not worthy of one? 

  Less than a minute later, Jeremy has around seven giant blankets draped around him, which he then proceeded to slam down to the ground. Christine calmly took two of them and wrapped herself up, deciding to take the couch.

  "So, you're going to bed now?" I ask. It's only 1AM. I haven't gone to a lot of sleepovers in my days, but usually they stay up a bit later than this, right? 

  "Mhm," she mumbles, laying her head down on a couch cushion, "All that sobbing made me sleepy."

  "That's valid," Jeremy adds, but he seems very... dejected. His expression was very distant, "Night, Christine!"

  "Night, Jeremy. Night, Michael."

  "Night," I add half-heartedly, feeling a sense of worry coarse through my veins when I see how upset Jeremy looks. Jeremy stands up and goes to the kitchen, and I'm left alone with my thoughts. 

  It didn't take long for Christine to fall asleep. She was out like a light after two minutes. It didn't take long for Jeremy to come back either. He walked in with a cup of cold water, which I guess the doctors must have recommended to him to help out the whole esophagus thing he's got going on.

  I'm the first one to speak up: "Everything okay? Was the musical too sad?" I tease.

  He laughs softly, but his heart isn't in it, "No, no, it was perfect, I loved it," he put his cup down on the coffee table, "I'm, uh... I'm glad you like Christine. And I'm glad you like video games. And I'm glad you like musicals. It's just rare to find someone who shares all of my interests like that, y'know?"

  I sigh wistfully, knowing that that didn't even cover an eighth of it, "Jeremy, I know that there's more on your mind."

  Jeremy blinks for a minute, "I... It's nothing, I just—"

  "You're worried about the treatment, aren't you?" I scoot closer to him, "We're going to have to talk about it eventually, Jere." 

  The room was pitch dark, except for the area we were sitting. We were sitting right next to the window, and even though it was 1AM, the moonlight seemed to light up the most important thing in the room: Jeremy. 

  I see him biting his lip.

  "It's just... Michael. This treatment worked for almost  _every_  single young esophageal cancer patient. It's like chemotherapy, but not really, because it's like for young teens and stuff. A lot of teenagers have left with good results. Then I come along. I'm too underweight, I eat unhealthy, I don't sleep enough, I don't work out enough—And now I have cancer, and now no treatment is going to help me because of that."

  "Jeremy..." My eyes dart up and I look him in the eyes, but he isn't quite meeting mine, "Are you going to live?"

  Jeremy lets out an ugly sniff, "I... I just..." he bites his lip, "Of course I am."

  I lift up his chin with my index finger, "Then you have no reason to worry, okay? Everyone is different. What works for other people isn't going to work for you," I pull him into a hug, wrapping my arms around his waist, "You're going to find something that's going to work for you, okay? I promise. You're going to be healthy again. Maybe not this week, maybe not in the next month, but you  _will_ be healthy again one day."

  Jeremy lets out a sad laugh, wrapping his arms around my neck, "Michael... Michael, what if..." he lets out a string of sniffs and watery laughs, "Wha—What if the only way I can be healthy again is by dying? Th-Then what?"

I tense. I want to cry. I want to scream:  _'I don't know! I don't know when you're going to be healthy again! I don't know if you'll ever be healthy! I don't know what would happen if you died! All I know is that I'd be completely fucking destroyed!' _but this isn't about me. None of this is about me. I'm not the one that's dying.

  I curse myself. Fuck off. Fuck this. Jeremy's not going to die. He isn't. My brain's just exaggerating, and Jeremy's just being anxious. He's going to be okay. So that's all I say: "You're going to be okay."

  "But... but Michael—how do  _you_ know that? How do either of us know that? How does anyone know that? How does—"

  "How many treatments have you tried so far, Jeremy?"

  "What?"

  "How many treatments have you been on so far?"

  "Uhm, three, I think?"

  "Do you know how many cancer treatments there are?"

  "What if  _none_ of them work, though?"

  "What if  _all_ of them work?"

  I feel Jeremy smile against my shoulder, and then I hear the sound of giggling coming from him, "You're  _right,_ you're  _right._ Maybe they will, you know?" He lifts his head up from my shoulder and looks me in the eye, "You always know what to say, Michael. How? How do you do it? Even when we were 13, you always made me feel better when I did bad on a math test or something..."  
    
  "I don't know a fucking thing, my guy."

  Jeremy starts laughing again, and something about his laugh is so... satisfying. I don't know. Something about it made me just want to turn all smiley and giggly. I'm so happy I'm friends with this geek.

  He places both of his hands on my shoulders, and damn, this guy's got piano hands. Those long skinny fingers that you only really see in pianists, but there's no way Jeremy plays piano so that means it must be genetic. His dad doesn't have them, so that must mean it comes from his mom's side.

  His mom.

  I feel a pang in my heart. This poor kid. He doesn't fucking deserve it. He doesn't deserve anything his mom has put him through. He doesn't deserve anything cancer has put him through. He doesn't deserve anything  _I_ have put him through.

  He has his hands on my shoulders and he looks me straight in the eye. I only just realized how blue his eyes are. And how thick his eyelashes are. How his eyes seem to sparkle whenever he's happy. How his hair framed his face. How his—

  Suddenly I started to panic. A feeling started bubbling in my chest and my body instantly rejected it. It was a warm fuzzy feeling that made my heart feel funny and made my eyes blur. My eyes couldn't seem to focus on anything but Jeremy, and his blue eyes, and his curly mop of hair, and his freckles, and his—

  I push him away, "We should get going to bed."

  Jeremy seems taken away for a moment. He puts a hand on his chest where I pushed, like I stabbed him there, "I... yeah. Yeah! You're, uh... You're right," he stands up hastily, "You need anything?"

  I run my hand through my hair and everything feels out of place. My lungs crawl up into my throat and my heart seems to tear itself up. Why? What just happened?

  "Do you have cereal?" I choke out.

  "Lucky Charms?"

  "Yes please."

  My body comes down from its adrenaline rush and Jeremy leaves the room. My heart mends and my lungs place themselves back in my chest where they belong. My breathing stills. What just happened? What emotion was that?

  I look back on everything I felt. Fuzzy feeling, eyes blurring, adrenaline... Guilt? Was I feeling guilt? I asses the situation and decide:  _Yes. That's the only possible answer._

I feel guilty because Jeremy's upset, because he was crying, because I don't know how to fix it.

  Yeah, yeah, definitely. Guilt. That was it.

  My mind kept trying to deny it, implying that it was something else, but the worst part was I don't know what that "something else" was. It almost like it was on the tip of my tongue, but a wall had been built between my long term memory and my current thoughts preventing me from figuring out what it was.

  Some light creeps through the room and I realize its the light cutting through the air from the door being opened. Jeremy walks in and gently closes the door in order to not wake Christine. He has a handful of Lucky Charms that he drops in my palm.

  I inhale it. Half of it I just straight up shove down my throat.

  I hand him the excess: "Want some?"

  "Uh, no, I uhm... I can't."

  "You allergic to Lucky Charms?" I ask, laughing.

  "No, Michael... I, uh... I literally can't," he points to his throat. I furrow my brow, not understanding what he's getting at and then suddenly the penny drops. That's where his esophagus is.

  "Oh... that's where your, uh... yeah. Sorry."

  He sighs and offers me a watery smile, "You can say tumour. It's okay."

  "I'm so sorry, Jere."

  He looks down at his hands and then stays completely silent. Somehow, there was no tension in the room. The underlying feeling was just a radiated feeling of calmness, and maybe a tinge of regret, but that was definitely my fault. The only sound was Christine's even breaths and every now and then she'd mutter some gibberish in her sleep.

  "Good night, Michael," he jokingly salutes me, "I'm, uh... you're one of the best friends I've had, okay?" All previous worries I had seemed to vanish. It was completely out of nowhere, but I really needed it. It gave me all the clarification I needed on this whole friendship thing he and I have got going on.

  "Good night, Jere," I throw my blanket over myself and realize that I should probably just sleep this off, "Sweet dreams."

  I hear a yawn come from his side, "You too."

  I close my eyes and the world seems to fade away. My chest feels a little closed up, but why should it? I have Christine here, I have Jeremy here. This couch is comfy as all hell. Jeremy and Christine are both okay. Or at least Christine's okay.

  I decide to take my own advice: Jeremy has dozens of different surgeries and treatments he hasn't tried yet. One of them is bound to work. I mean, I'm not a doctor, and even if I was I definitely would not be a gastroenterologist. I'd probably be a endocrinologist. They work with diabetes and stuff, right? That shit is cool. The pancreas is a radical thing, my dude.

  I can hear Jeremy's breath even out, and that in itself was enough to complete ground all of my panicking and worrying into little dust particles, that seemed to float away the second I realized he was okay. Jeremy's okay. Christine's okay. I'm okay. Like for fuck sake, I'm wearing a cute little friendship bracelet that this random theatre girl knitted for me, how can I _not_ be happy?

  I try to mimic Christine and Jeremy's even breaths, hoping that it'd lull me to sleep. I feel my body shut down and I feel my thoughts dissipate. I feel the memories from today get hazy as sleep engulfs my mind. I just need to shut off for a while. That's what you do with gaming consoles, right? The ol' "Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" fiasco. Everything will be clearer in the morning. Everything will make sense. All of this will come together. Jeremy will find a treatment that works, Christine will probably grow up to be a broadway actress, and I'll stand on the sidelines and yell mindless but meaningful encouragement.

  Oh yeah, and I'll fucking kick their  _ass_ in Mortal Kombat. 

  I feel my whole body sigh. I'm okay with this. I haven't known Christine long at all, but she's definitely already improved my life. Jeremy has changed my thought process and my lifestyle overnight, and I don't know for sure but I like to think that it's for the better.

  I am happy, and so are they, and maybe this happiness will last all week, or all month, or all year, I just need to keep on moving and trying and believing and giving it my all. Then maybe this happiness can last a few more moments.

  Maybe.

  Just maybe.

 


	18. I Don't Even Know How To Spell Cancer And Now My Friend Has It

"And then like, she yelled at me for not doing homework, even though we had to write three separate tests that day! Three, Michael!" Jeremy is animatedly ranting about his Economics teacher on Skype's Facetime feature as I stuff half a can of Pringles down my throat.

"Damn, she sounds like she sucks," I say through a mouthful of Pringles.

"She does. I'm already the biggest loser in my school, nobody really likes me to begin with, but yeah, no, let's blame the dumbass with anxiety issues, I'm sure that'll go well!" he chugs half a bottle of water in anger.

"Don't worry, things'll be better in college. Teachers don't give a shit what you do there. You can walk in with a fursuit and they'd just continue talking about the lesson."

"W-Wait, you really think so?" Jeremy's eyes light up at that and all of a sudden I get a feeling of 'Oh god no, please don't tell me that, oh no, oh no, fuck, no way, I am going to—'

"Jeremiah Heere, are you entertaining the thought of going to a college class in a fursuit?"

"Wh-What? No, no! I meant like the whole, things will be better in college part, not the fursuit part."

"Can't believe my best friend is a furry. I'm not sure this friendship can continue," I say dramatically, dumping almost all my Pringles on the floor in the process.

"No, no! I'm not attracted to like, people with cat ears or anything," Jeremy hurriedly tries to defend himself, but it just sends him down a spiral of suspicious excuses.

"Well, if you're not into cat ears, what's your type, then?"

"My blood type? If so, red."

"First off, that's not how blood types work, second off, I meant like, what's your taste in datemates?"

"Uh, for girls, I just... I kinda fall in love with every girl I see?" He laughs awkwardly, "Like... they have... pretty... eyes... and..." Jeremy seems to short circuit for a minute, "Pretty..."

"That's valid," I say, not really knowing how to contribute to that at all, because I am not even in the slightest attracted to girls.

"With non-binary people... also all pretty," he says.

"Ugh, so valid," calling something valid is my go-to when I don't know how to add onto a conversation. Jeremy's said all there's need to be said, honestly, "How about guys? With girls and enbies there's a lot of place for leeway for you, do you have like a very specific type of guy you're into?"

"With guys I'm a bit more picky, I guess. I mean, the only real requirements I have for a guy is that they have to like dogs. I also have like... a thing for tall guys..." he says it with such self-consciousness leaking in his voice. I guess he never really had any people to talk to about his love for boys. I mean, he has three friends from what I know of: Jenna, Chloe and Christine, and they're all lesbians.

Wait. I'm tall. I like dogs.

I mean, like, not that I care or anything. It's just kinda interesting.

I literally feel myself freeze for a second. That's stupid. I'm stupid. Half of the male population is tall and likes dogs. Being 6'0ft and liking Labradors doesn't make me special. Why was that even the first thing that came to mind?

I decide to lighten the mood: "My type is: If you main Kirby on smash then I refuse to date you."

I see Jeremy pout, "But I main Kirby on smash..."

"That's why we're not dating, Jere," I snort, "I mean, there are like fifty other reasons, but that's definitely one of the top ones."

"Fair enough," Jeremy leans back on his bed, "Well, I main Kirby, Yoshi and Marth, how about you?"

"Marth is my baby boy and I love him," I say immediately, "I use him whenever I can, but I also like Link and Mario."

"I love Marth so much, oh my god-," Jeremy agrees, and the conversation blossomed from there.

As the conversation continued I felt any tension in my body dissipate. I have a lot of really close friends, but with all of them I'm still kind of nervous about saying something stupid. With Jeremy I just keep talking and spouting bullshit, and it seems like he just seems to agree with everything I say. At first I thought maybe he was just busy being a Yes-Men to make me feel better, so that put me off immediately. I don't want someone to agree with me on everything just so that I'll like them.

On our next Skype call however...

"What the fuck do you mean Sonic: The Black Knight wasn't that bad?" I throw something across the room, "What the fuck, how the fuck, how dare you think any Sonic game is of any quality in the slightest."

"Listen! I get that it holds your hand a bit too much, but I have good memories with it! Just because you think a game is shitty, doesn't mean it is!" he crossed his arms, "You're not cooler than other people just because you listen to music on vinyl and you only play games from the 80's. It makes you interesting, but thinking that it makes you better than everyone else is stupid."

Then I realized, no, Jeremy is not a Yes-Men, we just actually managed to genuinely agree on a lot of things, and although his lack of hate for Sonic: The Black Knight caused a tear in my heart, our friendship continued all the same.

I really, really fucking cared for this dumbass. I mean, usually someone maining Kirby on Smash and liking Sonic the Hedgehog in any media form ever would be an instant bridge-burner, but somehow us having a contrast in interests made me like him more. I like having someone I can actually debate with. I mean, they're only video games, but having someone who differs with me on some levels is fun and refreshing.

Oh! Breaking news! This just in: Reality check: He has fucking cancer.

I realize that I need to be a good friend. I have to be like Christine. I need to research what the fuck is going on with Jeremy's body so that I can actually help him every time he cries from how bad his chest burns get, or every time he throws up blood, or every time he loses his appetite completely, or every time he can't move because of abdominal pain.

I need to be able to help.

It makes me feel so guilty every time he's helplessly babbling about how much it hurts and all I can do is murmur stupid nothings like: "I know, it's okay buddy--" Because news flash: That isn't helping.

I sat in front of my laptop, going on the only medical website I know, www.everydayhealth.com , and salvage as many esophageal cancer articles they have, and God, I'm in too deep. The only thing I can gather from an article named "Offering Support Through Esophageal Cancer" is how you should give your utmost love and support to your friend who's struggling, and goddamnit, I'm already doing that. How am I supposed to help with chest burns? And the whole blood vomit thing? This is awful. I hate this. Why did the world decide to give the dumbass with little to no knowledge about cancer the friend with cancer?

I decide to go to the section listed as "All Esophageal Cancer Articles" and I feel myself lose a tiny bit of my soul as fifty eight articles show up.

Fifty eight.

I mean, I'm not gonna read all of them, am I?

No! Not at all! I would never do that!

Never!

I totally didn't read all fifty eight articles! No way!

Haha.

I want to fucking die.

The main article my brain seemed to focus on was the "Coping with Esophageal Cancer" one. Not because it was helpful or anything, but because it was depressing as hell. It literally linked me back to an article that said: "Considering End-of-Life Care For Esophageal Cancer" and honestly, what a stab to the heart. I knew esophageal cancer doesn't have the highest survival rate, but straight-out telling the patients reading your article that they might have to consider dying must be devastating. I'm not even a patient, and it had me freaked out. Maybe because my best friend had it.

I decide that these articles weren't helping me as much as I'd hoped, so Jeremy and I had a two hour long Skype call where he explained everything he knew.

And honestly, it was such a wake-up call.

"I, uh... the only information I get about my cancer is from my doctors... I, uh..." His webcam quality was pretty bad but I can tell he looked nervous, "I don't find any of my info on websites or anything."

Something about that seemed weirdly significant to me, "Why not?"

"Uhm, anytime I look up anything about esophageal cancer, it says a lot about how low the survival rates are and... y'know. I just don't want to think about that stuff, you know?" He bites his lip, "Uh, I really appreciate you trying to research this stuff for me, though. It's just... really nice to know you care. Thank you, Michael."

"I mean, really. It's the least I can do about your whole situation you've got going on," I tried to be empathetic as possible, even though I can't imagine what this must be like at all, "So, uh, can you just run me through like the most basic symptoms? I really just want to be able to help you be okay again, Jere."

"I just... don't research too much, okay?"

That hit me with a wave of confusion, "Uhm, why not?"

"I think, it'll make you worry too much. Those websites always blow it out of proportion, I'm doing fine, y'know considering—"

"Okay, okay, I get it, don't worry about it, dude," something about that was incredibly off to me, but I continued nonetheless and decided to lighten up the mood just a bit: "So, you going to educate my dumbass or what?"

He looked hesitant, "Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Uhm, well you know about the heartburn, and the whole blood thing, and the whole loss of appetite thing, and the whole trouble with swallowing thing," He thinks for a minute, "I dunno, it... just... Michael, it's getting worse, I think."

"The symptoms?"

"Not just that, everything," He runs his hand through his hair, "My chest pains get worse every time, I barely even remember to eat anymore, it seems like every other day I'm throwing up blood again, my tumour is just getting bigger and bigger each passing day. I can't eat anything without choking. Even swallowing liquids is painful. I just want it to stop. I just want it all to go away. But it won't. When I wake up I'll still have the same fucking thing in my throat. It's so unfair, Michael."

"Jere-"

"And if my tumour gets too big then I have to eat through a feeding tube. A feeding tube, Michael. I fucking hate this," It's not like Jeremy doesn't swear often, but he never swears this excessively, and somehow that's my brain's telltale way of being able to tell that something is definitely off, and that he was keeping something under wraps.

He isn't sad though. He just looks and sounds angry. Angry at cancer, I presume, and I mean, so am I.

"I'm so sorry, Jeremy," is all I can seem to get out, "There are so many treatments out there, okay? I researched a bunch, remember? I counted more than eleven. More than eleven treatments, and all of them could work."

"I've already done three."

"Eight treatments, and all of them could work."

Jeremy rolls his eyes, but through the grainy graphics of my laptop I can see him smile, "Uh, so basically," he clears his throat, trying to come back down from his sudden lash-out, he closes his eyes for a second, "W-Well, I can't really think of anything from the top of my head," he scratches the back of his neck nervously, "What do you want to know?"

I decide to drop the question: "What stage are you at? Like what stage of cancer?"

"Oh!" he stops for a minute, "Oh..."

I stay silent, urging him to continue.

"I'm Stage I."

"No, you aren't."

"Michael-"

"You don't throw up blood until you get to the more advanced stages, Jeremy."

"I, uhm..."

"Is that why you didn't want me to do any research?" I ask, "Because you didn't want me to realize that you're not at Stage I anymore? Listen, Jeremy. I was going to find out sooner or later. We have to be honest with each other here. This is quite literally a life-or-death situation."

"Michael. I... I may not have been entirely honest with you... about all of this."

"Yeah, no shit."

I can see Jeremy flinch, and suddenly an arrow of guilt shoots through my throat.

"I mean, agh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash out like that, I just really want..." I start playing with the bracelet around my wrist, "I just want you to be open with me."

"Stage III."

"What?"

"I'm at Stage III."

"Oh."

A beat.

He speaks up, his voice hoarse: "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"That's...That's not good."

He purses his lips, "It isn't."

"But the survival rate for that is—"

"I know what the survival rate is, Michael."

A tense silence spreads across the room. So much so, that I actually thought I'd accidentally somehow muted my headphones because of how quiet he was being.

Stage III esophageal cancer has a 23% survival rate. I mean, it could be worse, right? It could be so much worse. He's not at Stage IV and that's all that matters. 23% is almost a whole quarter, this is fine. He's going to be okay.

I need him to know that. I need him to know that he's going to be okay. That everything's going to be okay.

I choke out a weak: "Do you want me to come over?"

His voice is hoarse:

"Please."


	19. Two Idiots Cry Tears Of Joy Feat. A Knitted Rat ; More At Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm learning how to knit rats and im honestly just projecting that onto jeremy but anyways in this chapter i talk about knitted rats and i had a bit of trouble describing it so here's a picture: https://gyazo.com/33b1843bc248bc804665a04751d0ed85 (just copy and paste it into your google search bar lmao)

  Every other day it seemed like Jeremy's house was dark and empty, with no one in it but him and his cats, Schnappi and Snoop. His dad wasn't there half the days I visited, (which was everyday, mind you) and when he  _was_  there, he seemed dejected and neglectful. 

  Today was no different. All the lights were off and all the curtains were pulled close. No door was left open, all of them shut tightly. The only sound that echoed across the house was the sound of the refrigerator doing its thing.

  As I knocked on Jeremy's bedroom door, no one answered. I open the door slowly, looking through the creek and seeing Jeremy sit there, petting his cat sitting in his lap idly. 

  "Hey, dude, everything alright?"

  He takes a few seconds to react and then looks up slowly, his lips slowly curling into a crooked smile, "Michael."

  "Hey Jere," I saluted jokingly, closing the door behind me, sitting on the bed in front of him, "You said you wanted me to come over."

  He was quiet.

  "Y-you said you liked rats?" Jeremy's voice was really shaky.

  I scrunched up my nose, that's kinda off topic, huh? "Yeah, they're my favourite, why?"

  "I, uh... I-I made you one?" He says unsurely, nervousness dripping in his tone. He takes something out of his pocket, "Uhm, Christine and I are learning how to knit animals and stuff, and we were making rats, and I know you love them, so I made one for you, and uh..."

He hands me a little wool sausage with a tail, ears and two beads for eyes and I almost spontaneously combust because holy  _shit_ , it's fucking adorable.

"I get it's kinda stupid, I dunno. It just made me..." he hesitates, "Made me think of you, I guess."

"I fucking love him, holy shit, Jere," I stare down at it for a minute, not being able to comprehend that this dumbass literally knitted a fucking rat for me, "Not the usual gift, but I really, really appreciate you thinking about me, thanks, man."

  He beams, "Uh, yeah! Yeah..." he hesitates for a minute, "You're welcome...?" He says unsurely. It sounded like no one ever thanked him for anything, which was absurd. I mean, he's friends with Christine, Chloe and Jenna, they're all pretty grateful people—Okay, maybe not Chloe, but the other two still thank him for stuff, don't they?

  "You want to talk about the whole... cancer thing?"

  He shakes his head hurriedly, "Uhm, I... in a minute?"

  "Okay, cool, how'd you make the rat?"

  "Oh! Uh, you just take some stuffing, and then you knit a little blanket around it and then add a string for the tail. You just kinda thread the beads into the wool and then you've got a little rad rat," he smiles faintly, "What are you naming him?"

  "Jeremy."

  "Yeah?"

  "No, that's what I'm naming him. Jeremy the rat."

  Jeremy tilts his head and then breaks into a small grin. We seem to stop for a moment, and we both sit there, quiet.

  There was a strange tension in the air.

  "I'm sorry for not telling you what stage of cancer I was at," he says sympathetically, "I... Uh, I get that it wasn't cool of me, as my best friend you deserve to know that kind of stuff, and I just wanted to apologize."

  "Hey man, it's okay," I pat his shoulder half-heartedly, "I don't  _deserve_  to know anything, you owe me nothing, okay? I mean, you knitted me a rat, for fuck sake, anyone who knits me a rat could murder me in cold blood and with my dying breath I would still defend them in court."

  Jeremy chokes out a laugh, "Thanks, man."

  "Hug?" I ask jokingly, holding my arms out, but I meant it.

  He nodded hastily, falling forward into my arms, not really making any effort to reciprocate the hug physically, but at least the emotion was in it. 

  I let out a sigh and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head on his.

  I made a personal decision that I would stay quiet until he decided he wanted to talk. I feel kind of guilty for pushing his boundaries a bit on that Skype call. I want him to be able to be comfortable with me, and if that means sitting here hugging for a few days then so be it.

  After what I could only have guessed was around five minutes, he pulled away, his expression calmer and his muscles less tensed, "Okay," he sighs, "I think I'm ready to talk now," he says, with confidence this time, and less shakiness in his voice.

  "Alright man, I'm ready when you are."

  He exhales, crossing his legs and resting his hands in his lap, "Okay. Alright. Uh, so. I feel like... I feel like I should just let it all out now, that way we know everything's out there, there is some good news that I'm not telling you, so I think it's important you know all that. That way I'm not like, holding anything back from you?" He suggests.

  "You don't have to talk about anything you're not comfortable with though."

  "No, no. I need to talk about this with someone. I don't want to keep all of this to myself," he makes some stiff hand movements, "I want you to know what's going on with me. And it's not bad, I promise."

  Damn, how much has been keeping under wraps? "You talk when you're ready."

  He takes in a deep breath, "M-my doctors think I should do radiation. It's kind of like chemotherapy, but it only affects the part of my body that has cancer, instead of my entire body, you know?"

  "So, you're losing your hair?"

  "No,  radiation therapy only causes hair loss to the body part being treated, and you don't have any hair on your throat so..." he cuts himself off and hesitates for a moment, "I... I'm just kinda glad I get to keep my hair, which is kind of a stupid concern, considering what's been going on with me these past couple of months."

  I stay quiet, urging him to go on.

  "I know I'm a cancer patient... but I don't want to live like one? And I think chemotherapy really would've skewed that, y'know? Because chemotherapy is like the stereotypical cancer thing, and I feel like taking part in it would've solidified this whole 'I have a terminal illness' feeling and that's something I really didn't want."

  "Yeah, I get that," I try to connect with him, "You don't want people thinking about cancer the moment they see you."

  "Yeah, that! Christine tells me she completely forgets I have cancer sometimes, and I like that effect because it makes me feel safer in my own skin, if my friends keep forgetting I have this... this _thing_ in my throatthen it just kind reminds me that, well, maybe they aren't just hanging out with me because of pity, you get me?"

  I give him a reassuring smile, "So radiation? What did your doctor say about it?"

  "Well, she said it has a good chance of helping me, and at the very least it'll at least shrink the tumour a bit," he says everything so precisely that it almost sounds like he wrote a script for this exact conversation, but I guess that's just a side-effect of hearing his doctor say it like this word-for-word, "It was really expensive, so that put me off at first, but our health insurance will help pay a lot, so that's pretty good."

  "Bro, that's great! When are you going on it?"

  "I don't exactly know yet, it's still just a concept that my doctor proposed, but I... I think I'm going to go through with it," he twinkled, "I mean, I don't have anything to lose and... man, if this works then..." he breaks off into a smile before he can finish his sentence. 

  I feel my eyes burn, because the sudden surge of happiness that shot through my heart was too much for my serotonin levels to handle, "Oh my god, you're serious?"

  He can barely finish his sentence because he's so giggly, "I could be cancer-free by the end of this! Maybe a few small surgeries on the side, and then it's all gone! Then I can start eating again, and it won't hurt anymore, and—"

  "Dude!" I abruptly pull him into a hug, "That's amazing, holy shit!"

  "It is! It really is," he starts laughing again, his body movements giddy.

  Something seemed kind of strange to me though, "Why were you so upset on Skype then? I mean, this is good news, right?"

  "It's just, agh, I know radiotherapy has amazing success rate, and it's definitely fit for what stage I'm at and stuff, and it's going to help me out _a lot_ , but it's just gonna be a kinda long journey, yknow? I mean, this whole abdominal pain and blood vomit thing is really sucky, and I'm going to have to live with that before radiotherapy can do its magic. I know it's temporary, but still kinda sucks."

  "And you'll only have to life through that for a little while and then it's all over, dude! Then you'll be healthy again, just like how you always were, remember?"

  Jeremy chortled, stuffing his hands in his face, "I'm just... I'm really excited! I haven't told Christine yet, because I want everything to be set in stone before I tell Christine, Chloe and Jenna. I know they'll want all the details, and I don't necessarily have them yet."

  "That's understandable, you can tell them whenever you're ready, right?"

  "I just kinda have to deal with all this sadness before I can be like, cancer-free. And radiotherapy has some small side-effects, nothing major though. I'm just... excited?"

  "You should be, dude! I'm totally surprised I'm not sobbing, right now," I joke, rubbing my hand down his arm absent-mindedly. 

  He lets out a content sigh and pokes my cheek jocularly, "You dork."

  "No,  _you're_ a dork."

  Jeremy feigns offence, "Am not!"

  "Are too!" I ruffle his hair, trying to make him look as stupid as possible. 

  Jeremy dissolves into giggles, and soon so do I, and now we're just two dumbasses that are excited that Dumbass #2 actually found something that might save his life. My heart is beating so fast that it definitely was not healthy. I don't think being this happy is good for my physical health.

  The conversation quickly dissipated into a completely different topic, but everything felt lighter and bubblier. Like an unspoken weight on both of our shoulders had mysteriously disappeared and all that was left behind was happy memories and stupid video game references.

  And for the first time this month, I feel true, pure unadulterated joy.


	20. I Am Now A Godfather To Two Cats Which Is Not A Responsibilty I Thought I’d Have

Just recently the doctor had fully decided that radiation therapy was the right option for Jeremy, and that it would almost entirely rid him of cancer. All he had to do was get one or two small surgeries afterwards, and then he'd be healthy again.

 

Jeremy would be healthy again.

 

The thought made me giddy, but it was still a while before he could actually go through with it all. Him and his radiotherapy team have to have half a gazillion meetings where they just talk about his medical history and do some physical exams, which Jeremy was dreading.

 

This all takes place over give or take two months, so until then, I got to keep my buddy with me at home. After that I'll have to go the hospital to visit him, which technically, should be a good thing, considering it means he's getting help, but hospitals always made me feel icky, so the whole situation kinda played with my nerves.

 

Before that whole fiasco has the ability to make our friendship way harder, we decided we'd spend as much time together as humanly possible.

 

I had a love-hate relationship with Jeremy's cats. Schnappi was pretty cool, but she definitely favoured Jeremy over me, which is understandable considering he's had her dumbass for twelve years.

 

Snoop just outright hated me. That fucker wanted me dead. Jeremy kept trying to make me feel better by saying: 'Don't worry, Michael! She never gets along with anyone!" but one time the mailman came to deliver their bills and Snoop rubbed right up that fucker's leg, so obviously Snoop just being an asshole is a fluke, and I just naturally repulse cats for some Godforsaken reason.

 

At least Schnappi didn't totally hate my guts, though. She was pretty rad, honestly. Jeremy and I were just mindlessly babbling over some stupid shit and I had her in my lap.

 

"Michael, I need you to promise me something."

 

"Uh... okay?"

 

"If anything happens to me, you need to take care of Schnappi and Snoop, okay?"

 

I choke on oxygen so abruptly that Schnappi bounces out of my lap, "Wh-What? No, you said you were going to get radiotherapy, right? You're going to be okay? Did you lie to me? What do you—"

 

"Jesus Christ, Michael! I'm fine! Yes, I'm getting radiotherapy. I didn't mean dying of cancer, that's already taken care of at this point, I meant like, while I was in the hospital getting my radiotherapy! My dad keeps forgetting to feed them so I need someone to give them love while I'm away," he has an amused smile on his face at how much I jumped to conclusions, but can you really blame me?

 

"So... these are my godchildren?"

 

Jeremy snorts, "Oh my god, yeah, sure."

 

"Godchildren? That's like... a Jewish thing, right?"

 

Jeremy looks at me in disbelief, "I'm so glad I'm friends with you," he lets out a cut off laugh, "Nope, I'm pretty sure Godchildren is a Christian thing, you're an atheist, right?"

 

"Well, yeah, I'm honestly just pulling out all of my religious information out of my ass."

 

"Classy," Jeremy comments, playing with Snoop's puffed up tail, "Okay, all you need to know is that Schnappi need a lot of pats, and Snoop likes being alone. That doesn't make her an asshole though, because she's not, she's a beautiful princess whom you do not deserve. Don't insult her."

 

"Noted."

 

"Schnappi has to take an anti-emetic pill everyday, because if she doesn't she'll get really sick, they're in the second cupboard from the right next to the cat food," he leans over to my side to scratch Schnappi's chin, "God, I love her. Look at her!"

 

"Anti-emetic sounds like anti-semetic. Can't believe your cat has to take nazi pills everyday."

 

"Michael."

 

"I mean, uh—Y-yeah! She's pretty cute." Insulting Jeremy's cats is 100% definitely a death wish.

 

"She is!" Jeremy reaches over to Snoop and places his forehead against hers, "I'm sorry, baby! You're cool too, I promise!"

 

"You love these dumbass cats way too much."

 

"Yeah? Well, you're a dumbass and I'm still your friend."

 

"You suck at trying to insult me," I gently run my hands down Schnappi's fur, "I know I'm a dumbass. Fuck gay pride, I have dumbass pride. You're dumbassphobic. This is against the law, Jeremy."

 

"I'm not dumbassphobic! I'm a dumbass myself! That's like you being homophobic, Michael," he stabs me with his unreasonably sharp elbow, "And besides, I'm great at insulting you."

 

"Oh really, now? Okay. Insult me."

 

Jeremy stops petting Snoop for a moment and looks me in the eye. "Uhm... well... I, uh..." I can literally see the gears turning in his brain, "Uh, Michael Mell? More like, uh, Michael... M-Michael Smell!"

 

"You tried."

 

Jeremy sighed, leaning forward into Snoop's fur, practically stuffing his face in it, "Okay, bad example, I'm just tired, okay? And I'm... I'm surrounded by kitties..."

 

"They're not kitties, Jeremy, they're both like twelve years old."

 

  "Love..." he pets Schnappi slowly and then Snoop climbs up on his thigh, so he reached up to pet her instead, "Pretty..."

 

  I wanted to be snarky, but Jeremy had a dazed, yet happy look on his face, with two cats sitting on him, and God forbid I disturbed that kind of peace.

 

  "I swear, if you don't take good care of them, I'll—"

 

  "I don't need to be threatened by the furry twink, thanks for trying."

 

  Jeremy gasped melodramatically, pulling both of his cats closer, "I'm not a furry!"

 

  "You didn't deny the twink part."

 

  "No need denying the truth," Jeremy forced Snoop to sit in his lap, "I hate being allergic to cats. I think while God was making me he decided I wasn't screwed up enough so to balance out my love for cats he made me allergic to them. What a dick move."

 

"I can't believe I have two goddaughters now," I say, feeling empty not having any cats sitting on me anymore, "I love them."

 

"You better."

 

"I can't believe you're allergic to your own daughters, you're a sucky dad."

 

"Go to hell, Michael, I'm a great dad," Jeremy pouts, increasing the speed he was petting Snoop at rapidly, "you're a terrible godparent. You called Schnappi a nazi and you called Snoop an asshole."

 

"Snoop is an asshole, Schnappi may not be a nazi, but hey, we never know. It's not like she can communicate whether or not she is. Who are we to assume?"

 

"I'm the most stereotypical little jewish boy ever, I'm pretty sure if Schnappi was a nazi she would have ran away by now," Jeremy pulls Schnappi closer, "And my dad... Jesus Christ, my dad. You look up "jew" in the dictionary and a picture of him will pop up as an example."

 

  "Maybe Schnappi is just trying to gain your trust so that she can stab you in the back last minute."

 

  "Michael! Stop trying to convince me into thinking that my cats are nazis! They're the only good thing on this bitch of an earth. You're the worst godfather to ever live."

 

  "Oooh, godfather... that sounds cool."

 

  "I think you're missing the part where I said 'the worst' right before calling you the godfather."

 

  "I only hear what I want to."

 

"You're pretty dumb."

 

"See? All I heard in that sentence was 'You're pretty' and then I stopped listening."

 

Jeremy rolls his eyes dramatically and picked Schnappi up to place her in my lap, probably realizing that I felt strangely naked not being suffocated with cats.

 

  Our conversation trails off and for a few minutes we just sit there in comfortable silence. The only sound being the fan, the cats purring, and also Jeremy whispering 'Ah, shit' after Snoop bit him.

 

  Usually our hangouts were high-energy. Jeremy enthusiastically ranting about some musical on Skype, me rapidly voicing my unwanted political opinions after Jeremy states at least seven times that he doesn't want to hear it, me absolutely destroying him at Tetris, all while we yell obscenities at each other.

 

  And while that was all in good fun, I loved calm moments like these.

 

  Where we just sit down, and have a heart-to-heart, where we just mess around with his cats and softly talk about memories we had as kids, or him forcing me to promise to take care of his dumb cats, which I totally brushed off at the time, but it was actually really sweet.

 

  It's moments like these that make all my worries dwindle.

 

  It's moments like these that make me forget that Jeremy has cancer.

 

  And I should seriously just fuck off. I should go slam myself into a wall, because Jesus fucking Christ, he found a treatment, the thing my non-religious ass has been praying to death for, yet still I worry.

 

  It's subtle, but everyday his voice gets a bit hoarser, and he looks a bit skinnier, and he coughs more and more and he goes through more pain and it's just running through my mind like _fuck this, fuck everything, he doesn't deserve this, just make it stop, just let him be happy again—_

And then I look at him, and he's smiling at a dumb joke I made or he's laughing at something stupid his cats did, and then I realize that he _is_ happy, and that I need to stop equating cancer with sadness, and that I need to slow down and I need to calm down, because no matter how much my raging mind screams at me everytime Jeremy talks about how much it _hurts_ , it's going to be okay.

 

  Maybe not now, maybe not in the next week or month or year or even decade—

 

  But it'll be okay.

 

  One day.

 

  Just not now.


	21. Girls Do Not Have Cooties Feat. Other Debunked Childhood Myths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is so much foreshadowing in this chapter your eyeballs will fall out of your eyesockets

  Christine's legs swung back and forth, which at the moment was kind of funny, considering the reason for that is because of how short she is, but the whole situation was, unfortunately, a bit more morbid than that.

  Unlike Christine, my feet touched the white hospital floors.  _Annoyingly_  white hospital floors. The kind of white that strains and your eyes and requires you to squint everywhere you look. Christine stayed eerily quiet during the whole ordeal, staring down at her twiddling thumbs, her leg bouncing up and down repeatedly.

  It felt like I've been here for hours, but in reality, we were maybe there for thirty minutes at most. Hospitals always freaked me out. They smelt like Listerine and there was this constant aura of death that seemed to hang over everyone's heads.

  According to Jeremy, the whole check-up would take up to an hour. He insisted that we stayed home, but Christine practically manhandled her way in, and I'd seem like a bad friend if I didn't tag along.

  Christine was astonishingly cool. Like amazingly cool. She bought me some snacks from the hospital vending machine and I am forever in her debt.

  The hospital ended up not being as icky as I remembered it being when I was six after that asthma attack that was caused by my six-year-old dumbass self trying to spray paint sunglasses, but it wasn't a fun time either.

  Christine and I had tried to have a decent conversation at first, but our voices got drowned out by all the nurses yelling at each other and all the people crying. Kinda sucked.

  After an endlessly painful hour passed, Jeremy came out with an unreadable expression on his face.

  Christine's constant fidgeting didn't seem to stop, as she stood up and walked over to him and whispered something I couldn't hear over all the racket. I saw him nod though. That nod could be a good or bad thing depending on whether or not the question is: "Are you busy dying right now?" or if the question is "Is your cancer miraculously cured?" God knows.

  Usually, I'm the one to initiate hugs, since Jeremy is just a big bag of insecurities, but the moment he saw me, he pulled me in, which in a way was very comforting, but in another way it was nerve-wracking, considering that all those movies I watched when I was eight showcased a  lot of dramatic goodbyes through the art of hugs.

  When Jeremy pulled away, he had tears in his eyes, and that was what solidified it for me: "Yeah, he definitely just heard he has like eight days left to live or something," which put me in such a state of whiplash that I almost backhanded Jeremy into the fucking sun.

  "My treatment starts next month," is what Jeremy said instead, and in no way was that a bad thing. It was such a good thing in fact, that my mind refused to soak it in for a solid half a minute.

  "Wait... wait... so this is all... this is official now? You're getting treatment?"

  Jeremy lets out a shaky breath and nods rapidly.

  "Wow... wow. That's... Holy shit."

  After I said  _fuck, shit, crikey,_  and other such expletives for a solid four minutes as Jeremy mindlessly rambled on about what the doctor told him, all three of us had decided that we'd have a celebratory 7-Eleven meal, which Christine offered to pay for.

  I _would_ pay for it too, but the only thing I could find in my pockets was a banana peel and an old Def Leppard CD, so I wasn't doing too hot financially. Luckily, as I said, Christine is a fucking saint.

  "I Wanna Know What Love Is by Foreigner is the only good song ever made in the world ever. Anything that came before or after it is an embarrassment to not only the music industry but society as a whole. Anyways, I'd like the Cap'n Crunch's Crunch Berries Slurpee, thanks," I said to the 7-Eleven waitress.

  She nodded, turning to Jeremy and Christine, and they placed their orders along with mine.

  "Stop lecturing the poor waitress on 80's stoner music," Jeremy said, completely unrightfully I might add, my lectures are of great value, "Also I cannot _believe_ you insisted on taking the cereal-flavoured Slurpee. You are a menace to society."

  "Yes, and we are here to celebrate not only my great talent in being an absolute menace but also Jeremy finally getting an actual treatment," I said, playing with the menu that I refused to give back to the waitress.

  Christine clinked her glass of water against my hand lazily, "Huzzah," she deadpanned.

  Jeremy offered a half-hearted _woohoo,_ "I start next month, so that means Michael, you have to take care of Schnappi and Snoop."

  "Don't get me wrong, I love my godchildren, but why can't Christine take care of them? They've known Christine longer and probably like her way more than they like my dumbass self."

  "I have two dogs at home, I can't," She deadpans again, and then suddenly her eyes light up, "Oh my god, you should've seen him, Tupperware was being super cute earlier today, and—"

  "I'm sorry, did you say your dog's name was Tupperware?"

  "If you criticize Tupperware then I'll use your pancreas a Christmas decoration."

  "That's fair."

  As Jeremy and Christine exchanged cute animal stories, I was left in the dark, considering I didn't have any pets. Well, I had one. Named Fish. He was a fish. Fish the fish. but apparently saying: "One day, my pet fish named Fish died of fish cancer," didn't really fit in well enough with their cute animal stories, so I had to drink my cereal-flavoured Slurpee in judgemental silence for a few minutes after that whole debacle. 

  As the waitress came back and took our cups, and we all fell down to our knees and praised Christine for paying 240 cents for our Slurpees, we decided to head to Jeremy's house, like we usually did after spending fuck-all on shitty convenience store drinks.

  As we walked home, Christine enthusiastically talked about something stupid one of her friends did at play rehearsal. I realized that she still had Jeremy's friendship bracelet on that he knitted for her at that dumb sleepover I was at with them and I found that kinda cute.

  I looked over at Jeremy too, and—Holy fucking shit, the shitty malformed friendship bracelet my dumbass knitted for him—he was still wearing it. That is really cute. That is alarmingly cute. Holy shit. This is going to have a premium mention in my obituary one day, I swear on my grave.

  Something about that made my heart flutter. I mean, I didn't keep Christine's friendship bracelet. It's still at home, it's not like I threw it away or anything, it's a pretty design, but I don't really wear it everywhere. Maybe I should. I mean, fuck, it's a cute fucking bracelet. I mean, I'm continuously being a bad friend by _not_ wearing it.

  "Do you think people actually like country music?" Christine says idly, '"I mean, like, uh—I have nothing against it or anything but—"

  "Considering Take Me Home Country Roads by John Denver is the only good song in the history of ever, I'd say yeah, some people do like it," I raised my counterargument.

  "I thought I Wanna Know What Love Is by Foreigner was the only good song in the history of ever? God, make up your mind, Michael," Jeremy says.

  "Bitch," I snapped, "I Wanna Know What Love Is by Foreigner can barely count as a good song because it's not even a fucking song. It's a way of life. You don't listen to it once, it takes fucking commitment, of which you have none. Take Me Home Country Roads is valid, but I Wanna Know What Love Is is on a whole different level."

  "Are you implying that there are only two good songs in the universe, and one of them is an 80's stoner song, and the other one is country music?"

  "Oh, abso-fucking-lutely. You aren't ready for the truth, Jere. John Denver would kick you in the dick if he heard you say that."

  Christine furrows her brow, "I think John Denver's dead."

  "Yeah, whatever, he died in a plane crash or something, whatever, he would rise from the dead just to kick Jeremy in the dick though."

  "I dunno, man," Jeremy shrugged, "I think I'd enjoy that more than I'd be repulsed by that."

  "Is this implying that you'd let John Denver fuck you?"

  "Not necessarily, but like, if he punched me in the dick, I wouldn't be _as_ emotionally hurt by it."

  "John Denver does not feel remorse. Did you see that guy's haircut? Dude was living wild, and he fucking knew it. A kick in the dick here in there wouldn't alter his life in the slightest."

  Christine decides to contribute: "I don't know, maybe making fun of the dead guy's haircut isn't cool."

  "John Denver isn't dead. He's Always Here."

  "I thought he died in a plane crash?"

  "That's what they want you to think."

  "God," Jeremy rolls his eyes jokingly, "I wish you'd never speak ever."

  "Ugh, mood," was the last thing I said before the conversation died off, and we walked back to Jeremy's house in comfortable silence.

  Somewhere along the lines, Jeremy had just decided that he wanted to hold my hand. Which is cool. That's rad. Like, totally tubular, dude. I didn't even flinch at all. Not even a little. Didn't even throw up in my mouth a little. I'd never do that.

  Considering Jeremy quite literally shrieked the last time I tried to hold his hand, my smart brain liked to see this as progress, but the gay side of my brain was screaming  _HNNNNNNGH GUY HOLD HAND!!!!!_ which was less useful, to say the least. It's not that I even like Jeremy like that. Just guys, in general, touching me makes me freak out. Jeremy also had crazy ass pianist hands, even though he doesn't even play the piano so that definitely a mystery that's going to remain unsolved.

  I could be holding Nicholas Cage's hand right now and I would probably be just as nervous.

  Knowing Jeremy, he got the same feeling. He told me once about how Jake Dillinger held his hand in Elementary School and he started sobbing, which is a colossal mood.

  Jeremy looked admittedly just as nervous as me, which probably meant he had that gay side of his brain as well which probably also added useful tidbits like  _HHHHH HAND WARM???_ which Jeremy's hands were not. They were fucking ice cold. I have hot ass hands. I have oven hands. I'm saving this poor boy from hypothermia just by holding his stupid hand. 

  Christine was none the wiser, skipping along the sidewalk. When we did reach Jeremy's house, he let go of my hand, which made me super bummed for some reason. I mean, I don't even care. I guess my hands just liked being cold or something, I don't know.

  As we sat down on the couch and watched as Christine fucking obliterated Jeremy at Pong, I felt a weird heavy feeling in my stomach.

  I mean, I get weird feelings around guys all the time. Dustin yanked on my arm to get past me in the hall, and even that made my heart go all goofy. Though I'd rather circumcise myself with a razor blade than ever get into any kind of romantic relationship with Dustin, so it isn't the person involved, I guess it's just the whole illusion of intimacy.

  This is the exact same thing as that. Guys just make me feel things sometimes. That's it. This isn't different, even if it feels like it is.

  I blocked out my thoughts and stayed quiet, choosing to observe Christine get her fifth win in Pong, and I also watched Jeremy get his fifth loss in Pong. It was honestly just a sad ordeal in general.

  Jeremy offered me the controller, urging that I try to take Christine on in Pong, but I just couldn't muster the energy to do it. I shook my head and decided to lay down on the couch and watch them mess around. 

  I had a weird feeling in my throat and a heavy feeling in my chest, and an unusual tremble in my hands, but I was alive. So this is pretty okay. Pretty alright.

  Somewhere along the lines, Jeremy threw a blanket over and me and told me good night, and while sleeping wasn't my intention at first, my go-to activity when I'm confused as fuck is to pass out immediately, and I don't know what emotion I'm experiencing, but I guess confused is a pretty good way to describe it.

  My mind tends to blow things out of proportion when it's late anyway. I'll sleep this off and everything will make sense in the morning.

  Now, don't get me wrong, I hate spoilers, but I'm going to have to give you something to go off of:

  No. Absolutely nothing made sense in the morning.


	22. My Store Bought Brain Isn’t Smart Enough To Comprehend These Emotions Send Help

  When I woke up, I was well aware of the fact that I definitely was not on the couch anymore. I was on some kind of bed, which threw me for a loop, considering I definitely did not fall asleep on a bed. I also definitely do not remember falling asleep next to Jeremy.

 

  Wait.

 

  I almost have seven fucking panic attacks at once because holy shit holy shit holy shit—Jeremy has his head stuffed in my chest, I have my face buried in his hair, and his legs were wrapped around my torso, and I suddenly get the overwhelming feeling to screech at approximately ninety-seven decibels—what the fuck, how the fuck, how did this happen—

 

  I force myself to calm down. Okay, breathe. Okay.

 

  Problem #1: I have awoken in an area I have no recollection of falling sleep in.

 

  Rational explanation: The only reason I'm here is because of Jeremy or Christine probably thinking that the couch would be too uncomfortable and they just decided on moving me to the bed. That's nothing to worry about.

 

  Problem #2: If I move, Jeremy will wake up, and that will make me feel guilty for the rest of my life.

 

  Rational solution: I can move to a more comfortable position fairly easily without waking him up.

 

  I suck the air through my teeth and very gently lifted my arm so that it was above and over the blanket, which made the overwhelming humidity of Jeremy's room way more bearable.

 

  When I did this, however, I felt Jeremy cuddle up closer to me, and I instantly want to scream, but that'd wake him up, and I'd rather go to prison for thirty years than do that.

 

  Another problem arises.

 

  Problem #3: I want to get up and get some food, but if I were to do so, I'd abruptly wake Jeremy up, and I don't know a lot about his sleeping patterns, but after having a handful of sleepovers with him and Christine, I know that the only rest he gets is when his eyes close when he sneezes.

 

  Rational solution: If I wake him up very carefully, then maybe he'll have an easier time falling back asleep afterwards.

 

  "Hey... Hey, buddy?" I whisper softly, "Can you wake up for a second?"

 

  I hear nothing from him. Damn. He's out.

 

  "Jeremy," I say a bit louder, shaking his shoulders as carefully as humanly possible, "Hey Jere."

 

I hear a sigh, and then after a few seconds his eyes flutter open, he looks me in the eyes for a few seconds before getting a dopey smile on his face, "Michael?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, it's me, buddy."

 

  He lifts his head from the pillow and rubs his temple with his fingers. He pulls his knees to his chest and reaches out for my hand, holding it for a moment, "...C-Can we go back to sleep please?"

 

  I can't help but smile as I hold his hand to my chest, "You can, but I want to go get some food, is that okay?"

 

  "Oh... yeah..." Jeremy looks kind of out of it, and lays back down and lets out an exhale, "Sure."

 

  I nod and climb out of the bed, making my way to the door, when suddenly—

 

  "Uh... a-are you coming back?"

 

  I turn around to face him, and he looks like the human embodiment of sleepiness. He has one of those shirts on that your parents usually give you that is ten times too big, but you feel too bad to not wear it, so you just end up wearing it to bed or some shit like that. His everyday hair already kinda looks like stereotypical bedhead, but right now his hair was a whole different kind of level of bedhead.

 

I hesitate, "Do... Do you want me to?"

 

  "C-can you? Please?"

 

  "Well, I mean... Yeah. Sure. I'll be back in ten minutes, okay?" I nod vaguely in his direction.

 

  I can't tell if I heard a soft 'thank you' or if that was just my mind playing games with me, which it has been doing more and more often lately. It's like everyone got a cool, functional brain, and my brain is some store-bought glob of meat that I picked up on the sidewalk at a gas station.

 

I go to the kitchen, and to no one's surprise, Christine is already sitting there, checking her phone and eating some cereal that she must have found somewhere in the house.

 

  "Hey Chris."

 

  She looks up from her phone and looks at me, smiling, "Hey Michael!"

 

  "Where'd you get the cereal?"

 

  "The cereal cabinet."

 

  Are you fucking kidding me? The cereal cabinet? Why am I even fucking surprised. They have a blanket closet, of course they'd have some stupid shit like a fucking "cereal cabinet," whatever the fuck that is. What else do they have? The pillow locker? A carrot cupboard? Fucking pathetic.

 

  "Okay, thanks," I said instead, taking a seat across from Christine, "Uh, so, I woke up in a bed? I'm pretty sure I fell asleep on a couch."

 

  "Oh yeah," Christine stood up and took some Lucky Charms out of the fucking 'cereal cabinet' and handed them to me, "Jeremy talked about how he got really neck pain for like a week after sleeping on those couches, so I carried to you to a bed so you wouldn't be half-dead in the morning."

 

  "You picked me up? I'm 6'0 and heavy as fuck, how did you manage that?"

 

  "I dunno," is all she said, and I guessed that that was the only closure I was going to get on that, "Anyways, Jeremy was going to sleep on the floor, because like, he thought you'd be uncomfortable sharing a bed with him, but I told him you wouldn't mind," she grabbed another handful of Lucky Charms, "Which you don't, right?"

 

  "Oh no, I don't mind," I say through a mouthful of cereal, "He told me to go back in like ten minutes? Any idea what that means?"

 

  She shrugs, "Dunno. He doesn't like sleeping alone," she stands up to put her bowl in the dishwasher, "I mean like, he doesn't necessarily need somebody to sleep right next to him, though I imagine that helps, but he likes having at least one other person in the room, even if they're at the complete opposite end of the living area."

 

  "Oh," I furrow my brow and try to comprehend that for a moment, "Uh, why?"

 

  She shrugs again, "I'm not one to question Jeremy, so I don't really know, but I'm guessing it's just because he doesn't like being alone in general. He likes having a shoulder to lean on and somebody to talk to and stuff. I mean, I feel more comfortable sleeping near someone else too, so it's not like he's alone in that or anything. I think it's more like a human nature thing than it is a Jeremy thing."

 

  "Huh," I stabbed the spoon that Christine handed me into my cereal haphazardly and think about how to carry on the conversation, "So, uh..." I hesitate for a minute and decide to steer the topic towards her, trying to change the subject: "You like theatre, right? How'd you get into it?"

 

  Christine's eyes light up, and then suddenly her expression drops again, "Uh... well... um, it's kinda embarrassing..."

 

  "Hey man, I don't judge."

 

  "Uh... I dunno, it's kinda dumb."

 

  "Lay it on me."

 

   Christine hesitates for a moment and then speaks up again: "Wait, let's do it like this," Christine suddenly beams, "Okay, you tell me one embarrassing story about yourself, and then I'll share mine. Deal?"

 

  "Ugh," I roll my eyes dramatically, "Deal."

 

  "Go ahead, use your big boy words," she patronized me.

 

  I sigh exaggeratedly, hoping to gain some false sympathy, "Once in ninth grade, Jake and I were doing this whole thing where we called each other bitch the entire day in place of using each other's name. Later on, Chloe joined in. Chloe and Jake were like, the only people I talked to, right?"

 

  "Right."

 

  "So I got really used to calling them bitch. So used to it in fact, that it just came naturally. At first, we cracked up every time we called each other bitch, but at a certain point, it had just become second nature. Then one time the teacher asked me a question in class, and I wasn't paying attention, so I meant to say 'I wasn't listening, Miss,' but in a panic, I said 'I wasn't listening, bitch.' It still haunts me to this day."

 

  "Damn, Jake and Chloe must've never let that one go, huh?"

 

  "Stop stalling, tell me your dumb embarrassing story."

 

  Christine sighed, sitting back down at the kitchen counter, "Okay so, there was this really really cute girl in my class when I was nine, okay?" She started, "And I wanted to talk to her, but every time I tried to I'd trip over my own words and go all red... So like at some point I gave up on the whole talking thing and decided to just try my hardest to be in her presence, I guess. I figured out she liked theatre, so I begged my dad to let me join the theatre group just so that I could impress some cute girl. I ended up becoming more interested in theatre than the cute girl herself, so I guess that's where my whole love for drama began."

 

  "What? I told you something that I literally have nightmares about every night, but you classify your super cute little lesbian love story as embarrassing?"

 

  "Oh, c'mon, terrorizing your parents until they let you join some dumb cultural arts thing all because there was a cute girl that participated in it is pretty embarrassing."

 

  "Not as embarrassing as calling your teacher bitch!" I defended myself, but my voice sounded strangled because I was really upset over the fact that I'd finished all my Lucky Charms.

 

  "Your ten minutes are up," Christine joked, before I could argue with her further.

 

  "What?"

 

  "You said that Jeremy asked you to go back to him after ten minutes, it's probably been fifteen minutes by now."

 

  "Oh, shit, fuck, agh, this conversation will continue, okay? I'm going to force you to tell me some crazy embarrassing story, just you wait."

 

  "Yeah, sure you will," Christine laughed.

 

I roll my eyes jokingly and gave her a reassuring awkward finger guns gesture, which my mind did on complete auto-pilot. She returns the gesture half-heartedly.

 

Before I could curse myself for being a dumbass, I made my way back to Jeremy's room hurriedly, opening the door as quietly as possible. "Hey Jere?"

 

  A messy head of hair appears from under the covers, "Michael..." he smiles sleepily.

 

  "Everything okay?"

 

  "Mhm. Yeah. Tired," he makes little grabby gestures with his hands, "C'mon..."

 

  I roll my eyes playfully, "Yeah, yeah, okay." I walk over to the bed and lay down next to him and he immediately stuffs his head in my hoodie. I lazily wrap an arm around his waist and decide that: Fuck it, we don't have school in a few weeks, so I can sleep as much as I want.

 

  I can feel his soft even breaths on my neck and his hair tickles my jaw. It gives me goosebumps, and I don't know why.

 

  "Michael...?" He says it so quietly so that I can feel the word on my neck more than I can actually hear it.

 

  "Yeah?"

 

"Your breath smells like Lucky Charms," he can't help but laugh softly, and soon enough I joined in along with him.

 

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," I snorted, making sure to pull him a bit closer. One side of my brain insisted that the reason for this was so that I could torture him with my Lucky Charms breath more efficiently, but the other side implied that there was an ulterior motive. I tried not to think about it too much though.

We stay quiet for what I could only have guessed was around two minutes, before he decided to speak up.

 

“Man... I just... I can’t believe I’m going to turn eighteen.”

 

A beat.

I scrunch up my nose instinctively, “Uh, what do you mean?”

 

“Uh...” he chuckled half-heartedly, “I’m... I’m really happy right now, so, y’know, I hate to be morbid, but... I never thought... I never thought I’d live to eighteen, I guess.”

 

I sighed, studying his expression, and he didn’t seem to look upset, he just looked grateful, so my best friend instincts decided that he didn’t need comforting, “Well, I’m glad you’re turning eighteen too, dude.”

 

“Yeah! Yeah... it’s... it’s great,” He let out a calm exhale, “I dunno. I’m excited for radiotherapy, I mean, imagine how cool it must be being able to tell people you beat cancer?” He tried to be optimistic, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, “But still, I’m a little bit scared.”

 

“I mean, I get you being scared, but there’s no need to be, is there? You said radiotherapy had almost perfect success rates.”

 

“Yeah, it does, but... well... it’s going to be a whole different chapter in my life. And living without cancer is like... obviously something I’m insanely excited for, but it seems like... like such a surreal concept? I guess that’s it. I lack the vocabulary to fully describe it.”

 

“Hey, it’s okay. I understand. It’ll be a big change to go from being sick to being completely healthy again, it’s okay to be scared of that,” I pull him closer, “You just gotta work through it, then you never have to worry about it again.”

“Thank you.”

 

“Thanks for what?”

 

“Ugh, I dunno,” Jeremy sighed, “I repeat myself a lot. I rant about something, then you make me feel better, then the next week I just rant about it again. I know it’s annoying, but I’m really glad you put up with me. So, uh... y’know. Thanks.”

 

“You’re allowed to rant, Jere, it’s okay. Like Jesus Christ, if I had cancer I’d mope around and just feel bad for myself, which I guess is valid, but I really admire how positive you are about it. Your optimism really rubs off on me,” I ruffle his hair jokingly, to which jabs me in the side with his unreasonably sharp elbow, which hurt like a _bitch_.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes jocularly, his grip around my neck tightening, “...Anyways, I’m going back to bed, you, uh... you do what you want.”

 

“Mind if I stay here?”

 

Jeremy looks at me with such gratitude written in his expression that it burns into the back of my skull and makes my eyes blur. He closes his eyes and leans into me, mumbling a quick:

 

“Please.”

 


	23. Rich, Who Emotionally Scarred Me As A Child, Completely Fucks Me Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! Important A/N: :o  
>  tw ; mention of a jewish slur  
> p.s. this chapter mentions some things that happened in "who knew discussing death with a stereotypical popular highschool jock could be so reassuring" which was chapter 10. if you want, i'd recommend you just quickly skim through the little text conversation that jake and michael had in that chapter to refresh your memory! c: <3 have fun reading babes!!!  
> p.p.s sorry for ruining your christmas :( 

 

When Jeremy came back from the hospital, it was like he'd built up a thousand more walls that were now up to me to break down.

He was incredibly closed off the entire day, every smile he sent me had a bit of edge to it and half of the time didn't meet his eyes. I caught him staring off into space more often than not.

We were both sitting on my bed in my bedroom. I made most of the conversation while Jeremy stayed quiet and nodded throughout. Something about it was very unsettling.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Jeremy decided to talk again: "You know who... You know who Rich is, right?"

"Who?"

  "Uh... Rich. Rich Goranski," Jeremy said.

  I feel a sense of nostalgia wash over me, "Oh, yeah, I know him. We talked in fourth grade once."

  "Yeah! Uh, yeah... he told me that," Jeremy said it with a bit of shakiness in his voice, and immediately my mind blared warning signals, "Uh. He's been my friend since fourth grade. I wanted to tell you about him and stuff, but I guess he never came up. He protected me from like... mean people and stuff. Y'know. Bullies and... anti-semitic people. Y'know the drill."

  "That's nice of him," I sent Jeremy the most genuine smile I could muster, having a gut feeling that this was definitely going to go downhill fast, because this conversation was definitely out of nowhere.

"Yeah! He punched Dustin in the face once for calling me a kike, it was pretty cool," Jeremy had an obviously fake happy facade on.

"Wait, Dustin called you a kike? Who the fuck does he think he—"

"Hey dude, it's fine. It was like a year ago anyway," he laughed, but there was no real joy in the gesture.

There's a quick second of silence.

  "Michael, can we talk about something for a moment?" Jeremy says softly, fiddling with the hem of his cardigan.

"Uh..." I bite my lip and sigh. I can already tell this is going to end horribly, "Yeah. Yeah sure. Uh, everything okay? Did the doctor like y'know... report anything bad?"

"I... no. I wasn't at the hospital. I was at... I visited... I was invited to Jake's. Because, uh... he and... he and Rich wanted to show me something."

"Oh, cool."

"He... just... Uhm. They told me some stuff. And I just wanted to ask you about them? I mean, uh, they're pretty bad, so I know you'd never do them, Rich and Jake are probably just full of shit or something," he laughs dryly, "You'd never never do anything like this, I don't know why I'm even worried."

I calm down a bit and send him a reassuring smile, "Yeah, sure man! Hit me."

"Okay, so uh, Rich told me some things, which I think  _might_ be true? But like... uhm, I don't think you had ill intentions. I think you had everyone's best interest at heart, you get me?"

"Oh, jeez. What did I do?" I say jokingly, thinking that this might just be Rich telling Jeremy that I called him a furry in a private conversation with him once.

"I'll talk about that later though, let's start with the, like, hilariously unbelievable stuff," he gives me a watery smile, "Uh, so... Jake showed me a conversation that you two had," he pauses for a minute, his voice a bit shaky, "About me."

  "Oh. Uh, Jake and I haven't talked about you recently, though?"

  "He showed me this... he said it was a while ago."

  "Okay."

  "You said you... you said you didn't actually care about me. And you basically called me 'the cancer kid that I need to make happy before he dies' and just..." he sniffs, "Uhm, I just wanted to know if that... if that actually happened? I mean, I-I know you'd never... never say anything like that, b-but..."

  "Wait, why was he only mentioning this now?"

  "Wait, so.... so this actually happened?

  "Well, I mean... like, uh, I-I didn't mean—I mean, yeah I  _said_ it, but I never meant for it—"

  "Wait, you mean you actually said all that?" His expression turns into something beyond betrayed, "Jesus Christ, I thought Jake photoshopped some shit to make you look bad, but... y-you  _actually..."_

  "I... Look, Jeremy," I try to stay as level-headed as possible, but I'm freaking out inside, because the fact that Jake tried to make me look like a massive asshole put me in a state of whiplash, "I was just being dumb. I was a massive dick back then."

  "Back then? You mean four months ago?"

  "I... Jeremy."

  "Shut up. Just fucking shut up," he snaps and I flinch. His voice sounded impossibly sad, "Do you wanna fucking... Do you wanna fucking know what Rich said? He told me why you... why you did that whole thing in fourth grade. I know you didn't love me, don't give me that shit, we were  _thirteen_. I asked him about it and he told me... he told me  _everything."_

  "Rich has  _nothing_  to do with it—"

  "Oh, so you're just lying to my face now?" Jeremy's voice sounds tearful, "Jesus," he sniffs, laughing sadly, "I don't even care if you're a dick sometimes, but lying about it? God, I seriously thought you wanted to be my friend."

  "And I do _,_  Jeremy! We totally  _are_  friends. I'm sorry, I'm just—"

  "How do I know this isn't all a lie? How do I know I'm not just another pawn in your chess game?"

  "Do you really think I'd commit to a lie so much that I'd spend hours Skype-calling you and visiting you every goddamn day?"

  "Of course you would. It's not like that's a new concept to you," Jeremy sucks the air through his teeth, "That's why you fucking—why you fucking broke up with me in front of  _everyone!_ Because you wanted to fucking  _humiliate_ me, Michael! What else could it be? It's not like you  _ever_  fucking liked me!"

  "What are you talking about? That was  _four_ years ago, Jeremy. You don't even like me like that anymore, why is it such a big deal?"

  "Because I  _did_ love you back then! And back then it fucking  _hurt!_ And I know I was just stupid and thirteen, but I still had feelings back then, man. I know you fucking hated me. If you gave a single fuck about me you would've at least let me off easily, but  _no,_ you just... you did  _that_  instead and... and—"

  "Wait, Jeremy, that's not what I—"

  "So you led me on for three years, made me think I had someone who didn't actually hate me for once, and it was all a  _lie_?"

  "What? I never  _hated_ you!"

  "Yeah! Well you sure fucking acted like it!" Jeremy seems to choke on his words.

  A silence spread across the room.

  "Jeremy, it was four years ago—"

  "And it stopped hurting three  _years_  ago. And I stopped getting bullied because of it  _two_  years ago. And I was completely over it a  _year_  ago.  _Four months_  ago, I forgave you. That shit had after-effects like you wouldn't believe. You really think people would want to be friends with the stupid kid who got publicly broken up with in front of an entire school of people? Chloe was sacrificing her entire reputation just by talking to me, let alone being my friend," He tried to take deep breaths, and it helps a tiny bit, but his inhales stay shallow.

"Jeremy..." I stand up, walking over towards him slowly. I take both of his hands in mine. He looks up at me, looking completely broken. "Listen," I tilt my head, "You're the best friend I've ever had. I... I know I fucked up. It was—"

"You know Rich told me everything about why you asked me out in fourth grade, right?"

"He what? Wait, like  _everything_ everything, or—"

"You wanted people to think you were straight."

"Jere—"

"You thought I was a girl."

"I..." I let in a shaky inhale, realizing that I can't deny any of that. I cannot fucking believe Rich told him. I tried to kid myself and say that it was just an honest mistake, but if someone did to me what I did to Jeremy I'd probably be ten times more pissed off than he is right now.

"God," He laughed tearfully, "Can't believe I was hopeless pining after a guy for three years until I was thirteen who didn't give a  _shit_  about me for all three of those years. Really makes you think, huh? If you lied so easily back then, who's to say this isn't all a lie now? I mean, that would be funny wouldn't it? Let's lead on the stupid, sensitive, vulnerable kid with cancer and then end up humiliating him one way or another. You'd like that, wouldn't you? I bet you'd find that fucking hilarious."

"Hey, hey, look at me, okay?" I caressed his knuckles with my thumb, trying to get him to calm down, because I really want to have a calm, level-headed conversation about this, "I want you to—"

He yanks his hands out of my grip, walking backwards, "I don't want to hear it. Just shut up," he says it with a toxic lilt in his tone, "It was fun being your cover-up,  _Michael_. Hope you tricked some people into thinking you were straight."

  I look at him desperately, and he looks back at me with tears in his eyes. He sucks the air through his teeth and hesitates for a second, before sighing. He slowly takes off the stupid friendship bracelet I knitted for him at that stupid sleepover, walks over to me, and puts it in my hand. He takes one last look at me, and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there for maybe an entire minute, trying to comprehend what just happened.

I felt my body back up until it hit the wall, as I slowly slid down it.

_I'm so fucking stupid._


	24. I Feel Like A Human Punching Bag But To Be Fair I Kinda Deserve It

 My first instinct was to call Rich and Jake so that I could ask them the following questions:

  •WHAT THE FUCK?  
  •WHAT?  
  •FUCK!  
  •WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO BE SUCH A CUCK?  
  •WHY!  
  •HOW COME YOU ARE SUCH A CLOD?

  I was expecting to receive give or take a small paragraph for each of the above questions. Each paragraph varying from approximately five hundred words to one thousand. I'd be satisfied with a bit more than that as well.

  I need to calm down.

  Obviously Rich and Jake care a hecking lot about Jeremy, and I like to think that from the bottom of my heart that they wouldn't do this if they didn't have a good enough reason to. I'll explain to them that  _OH GOD PLEASE GIVE ME JEREMY BACK IA AMA VERYV SADA AND I WANTAA TO HUG HIM PELASE_  and maybe they'll understand.

  I decide to call Rich first, because he was the main cause of this. I also feel like Jake is way more understanding so if the call with Rich goes south then maybe Jake can comfort me.

  I went to his Instagram, leeched his phone number and hesitantly typed it into my phone.

  "Hello, Rich Goranski speaking, who is this?"

  "Uhm, uh... Michael! Michael Mell."

  "Oh."

  "I'm not here to like... fight with you or anything, I just wanted to talk... like, uhm... respectful adults and stuff. You explain what you know, and I'll... I'll... uh... y'know. Try to... debunk it, I guess?"

  "Jeremy told you to fuck off?"

  "What? No! I mean... kinda, but..." I laughed awkwardly, "Y'know. He thinks I don't care about him... which, uh, I do! I really do! And he... I don't really think he wants to be my friend anymore... because of... because of, uh... you."

  I heard Rich snort, "Good riddance."

  I try to ignore his snarky comment, "Can you please just tell me what you know?"

  "I know that you aren't good for Jeremy. End of discussion. Go find some other anxious kid with cancer to manipulate, you cunt."

  I actually freeze for a minute, not knowing how to respond to that, "Uhm... uh... m-manipulate? What?"

  "You don't think I'm that fucking dumb, do you? You know what Chloe told me, right?"

  "What? What did she tell you?"

  "Go ask her, why don't you?"

  "I... I don't know what you're talking about," I take a deep breath, "But I want you to know that... that I  _really, really_ care about him. I... I know I haven't, well...  _displayed_ that very well, but I promise you, that—"

  "You only started "caring" about him until after he got cancer, Michael," he sneers, "Don't act all innocent. Jeremy doesn't deserve your shit. He's in a really vulnerable place right now and I don't want you to drag him back in."

  "D-Drag him back in? Rich, what are you talking about?"

  "Listen, he got over you. It took him a while but sooner or later he was actually able to walk in the halls without someone asking him about you," he says, and something about that made me feel incredibly guilty. Why were kids asking him about me? "You realize he's in a bad place right now and will fall to his knees for anyone who gives him validation, so you manipulate him into thinking you're his friend. I've been in his kind of situation before, Michael."

  "I  _am_ his friend. When my mama heard he got cancer, she told me and so I felt bad for being such an asshole thirteen-year-old, so I wanted to apologize. That's why I visited. And then I fucked it up so I visited again to apologize for my shitty apology, and then we became friends. It's that simple."

  "I heard a very, very different story from Chloe, and I hate to be biased but I'm way more inclined to believe her than I would ever believe  _you_."

  My throat feels closed off, "Please... just... I want him back, I promise I'll—"

  "Cute alibi. Not the first time I've heard the whole ' _Ooh, I want them back, please Rich!'_ from some fucking cunt. Fuck off. Leave Jeremy alone. You two probably got into tons of fights anyway."

  I take a shaky breath: "Not once did we fight. Not  _once_. The only time we fought was yesterday after you told him a bunch of biased bullshit on how  _apparently_  I'm a terrible person."

  "Oh, fuck off. You were bad for Jeremy. You literally told Jake that you didn't care about him."

  "Because I was insecure! Because I didn't want to show any strong feelings towards Jeremy, because I know Jake was going to tease me about it relentlessly! I  _did_  care about him."

  "Oh, I'm sorry!" He said sarcastically, "I've only seen you and Jeremy interact once! And so did the entire school. Because you broke up with him in front of everyone. Everyone in that school thinks you're a dick, and so do I, and even if you deny it, that opinion is based on facts."

  "Four fucking years ago. Jeremy forgave me, why don't you?"

  "I don't give a shit that you broke up with him in front of everyone, okay? I don't give a fuck. Jeremy's over it and that's all that matters. I care about the intention behind it. If you did that, who's to say you won't pull off something similar in the future? I mean, you've shown that you're more than capable."

  "Rich—"

  "I don't think you understand how much Chloe, Jake and I all care about Jeremy. I don't think you can comprehend how many times I've protected him from people harassing him at school. If you were capable of being a dick when you were thirteen, then you're even more capable of being a dick at seventeen. You aren't good for Jeremy."

  I sputter: "Wh-Wha—I'm sorry, are you serious? You have no idea how much shit I helped Jeremy through. You have no idea how much shit Jeremy helped  _me_  through. We never fought. I made him upset  _twice_  and the first one was because I was nervous since it was the first time I saw him in years, and the second one was today, where you used old outdated shitty evidence to  _make_ him upset with me."

  "Chloe told me some things. Chloe told me some shit. And after she told me what you actually think about Jeremy, everything you say is invaluable to me. Everything you do is worthless to me."

  "Wh-What? Chloe told you what? What did Chloe tell you?"

  "Well, why don't you ask her, Michael? I'm sure she has some shit she wants to say to you too, huh?"

  "Y-You..." My words seem to get caught in my throat, "You sh-shouldn't have gotten involved with Jere and I! W-We were doing  _fine—"_

"Ask Chloe what she told me about you. Ask Chloe. Maybe you guys were fine in the meantime, but you wouldn't have been in the near future. Chloe's known you the longest and she knows exactly what you think about Jeremy."

  "W-Well, uh, just—Fine! F-Fine, then! I'll go ask her. I just..." I feel some tears pool into eyes, "T-Take care of Jeremy for me?"

  "Fuck off."

  He hangs up.

I uselessly use my hoodie sleeves to dry off my tears.

Why am I even crying? This is all my fault anyway.

God, I was so stupid. Why did I want to act like the macho tough guy who didn't care about anything while I was talking to a guy whose only desire was to be cared about?

That's all he wanted. He just wanted someone to care about him, and I just went and screwed it up.

I'm not a good person.

The very first thought I had when I saw Jeremy again for the first time was that he was weak. Who thinks that? Who hears that their ex-boyfriend has cancer and then immediately thinks that he's weak? Me. I do. I'm absolute garbage.

  I know I should probably go over to Chloe's house and ask her what she told Rich that was supposedly so inhumanely fucked up that Rich decided to turn against me, and somehow also simultaneously made Jeremy feel uncomfortable, because I know that's gonna be a fucking hoot.

  But I can't muster the energy to walk to her house. I can't gather enough will in me to even stand up. I feel so emotionally drained and I feel like I have one more person tell me how awful I am I will spontaneously combust.

  They're right though.

  I  _am_  awful.

  I feel like a fucking degenerate. 

  I look at the phone and contemplate calling Jake, but I just don't have the heart left to go through with it. My eyes feel heavy and my bones feel like they're made of lead.

  I think back to that weird feeling I got in my chest when Jeremy held my hand, and I felt something in me flare. 

  My heart's on fire all of a sudden. Every flame particle emitting from its core scathing against my inner organs and tearing me apart from the inside out.

_God, I hate myself._

  

  

  


	25. Someone Puts My Whiny Bitch Ass In Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw ; chloe uses some super harsh language in this so be careful!!! she also kinda makes fun of eating disorders??? because she's kinda being an asshole. it's really subtle though, blink and you'll miss it. just stay safe babes!!! <3<3<3

  After two days of postponing the inevitable, I decided to go to Chloe's house, so that I could finally understand what she told Rich that was apparently so insanely fucked up that Rich decided whatever he told Jeremy about me was justified.

  To recap the past two days, it's been a nightmare.

  I called Jake six times, and he didn't pick up once. I knocked at Christine's door and she didn't open up for me, even though the lights were on so she  _had_ to be in there somewhere.

  I even went to Jeremy's house, looked at the door, even put my hand on the doorknob before an aching feeling enveloped my heart and the sudden thought came over me:

  Oh.

   _Oh._

_Maybe I can't do this._

I went home that day, without talking to Jeremy, or anyone for that matter.

Going to Chloe's house was the big next hurdle that I had to jump in my mind. It made me want to tear my hair out and scream until I lost my voice, but I'd have to face her one day. The sooner I talk to her, the sooner I'll get to talk to Jeremy again.

   _Or the sooner I'll lash out and tell her some stupid shit that she then tells to Jeremy and then he sees what a truly abusive piece of shit I am._

Maybe I'm overthinking this.

  I forced myself to disassociate from the situation. I separate my feelings from the circumstances and realize that I need to get this over with.

Correction: That's what I  _tried_ to do.

Instead of arriving at Chloe's house confident and ready for a conversation, I arrived there feeling out of myself and self-pity. Instead of my first impression being some cool ass power stance, I looked like I was a recovering alcoholic. Things weren't working in my favour today.

I knocked at the door nine times before Chloe opened up.

When she opened up, she didn't look annoyed, which stumped me. She didn't look angry, or upset. All she did was deadpan me. I didn't know whether to be comforted or terrified by that.

"What do you want, Michael?"

I purse my lips, "Hi... Chloe," I grab at straws for what to say, "Uhm... haven't talked in a while, huh?" I laugh nervously, scratching the back of my neck.

"Mhm. Yeah," her voice is monotone, and she was completely expressionless, "Huh. Wonder why."

Something about the way she said that pulled a trigger. I hadn't cried the past two days, but somehow it just started flowing. I  _barely_ cried. This didn't just  _happen_. Yet somehow I couldn't stop it.

"If all you're here to do is cry on my doorstep, then get lost," Chloe sneered, but her voice still sounded so  _emotionless,_ and I didn't know what to make of it.

"I'm... I wanted to... What did you tell Rich? Uhm, he... he hates me now..."

"Not just Rich."

I ignore that, "What did you tell him?"

She doesn't say anything.

A beat.

She realizes I'm crying.

I don't know why, but that seems to break something in her.

  "Look at yourself, Michael," Chloe flicked my forehead, "You're crying over this guy you could've kept if you just  _fucking listened."_

My eyes blur and I feel my throat turn dry, "I-I'm so sor—"

  "Shut your fucking mouth. Listen," She grabbed me by my collar, pulling me closer, "You're crying like a fucking pussy, while Jeremy, who has  _cancer,_ hasn't cried to me  _once._ And Jeremy's the biggest fucking pussy I know."

  "I kn-know, b-but—" I sniff, trying to think of something to throw back: "H-he cried too! He just..." I know exactly what I want to say, but something about how angry Chloe looks and how tight my chest feels stops me from saying it.

  "Yeah, he cried because of  _you,_ not because of  _cancer._ Really makes you think, huh?" Her expression is filled with an emotion that I can't seem to find the words to describe, "Don't know what it makes  _you_ think, but to me that says that  _you're_  a bigger problem than his fucking  _cancer_  is. You're worse than  _cancer_ , Michael! Ever been told that one?" She laughs emotionlessly.

  I stay quiet.  _I refuse to cry in front of Chloe, I refuse to cry in front of Chloe, I refuse to cr—_

  "You must think you're so fucking great, because you're hanging with a cancer victim, wow, good for you,  _Michael,_ " she said my name with spite, "You didn't even care about him until a month ago. You ruined the first few years of highschool for him, barely gave a  _shit_ and now all of a sudden because he's sick, you're drowning in sympathy. Fucking grow up. If you actually cared about him, you wouldn't have broken his heart four years ago. Fuck yourself."

  "I-I do c-care!"

  "If you just fucking waited. If you waited a month, even a week, you would've fucking realized."

"I-I don't—"

"All you had to do was  _just wait."_

  "Y-You keep saying that! B-but... I don't even know what it  _means!"_

  "Now you don't have any waiting time left. As soon as you realize the shit I'm spewing out of my mouth, and use that fucking brain of yours, you'll piece together all the shit I told you, but it'll be too  _late,_ won't it? You won't realize what I'm trying to tell you until Jeremy's dead, lying in a fucking coffin."

That riled me up to no reasonable degree, "J-Jeremy said he wasn't going to die—"

  "Jeremy doesn't know  _shit,_ okay? Have you seen that fucking kid? If the cancer doesn't kill him, the anorexia will, Jesus Christ—"

  "Don't fucking say that! He  _told_  me he  _wasn't_ going to die, okay?"

  "Jeremy literally told me he wanted to be cremated a week ago."

  "Y-you're  _lying_ —"

  "I'm not lying, Jeremy is. He's lying saying that he's going to live, dumbass. Because he fucking knows if he told you otherwise you'd be upset, and guess what? The kid's lying to keep you happy. Do you treat him with the same care though? No! You fucking don't, because I know the truth, Michael. And that's exactly what I told Rich."

  "Wh-What did you tell him?"

  "Yes, you care about him, but you  _want_ him to die."

  "That's not—"

  "You want Jeremy to die because it's becoming too much for you. You want the pain to be over.  You want him to die already so you don't have to wonder when he will. Because no use crying over spilt milk, huh? Wasn't that always your motto?"

_"That's not fucking true—"_

"You want him to die because you want to get this over with. Because after he dies you won't hurt anymore. Because after he dies you can get over him. Because after he dies it'll be done with, the pain, everything. Fucking pathetic. Fucking pathetic, I tell you.  _You're pathetic."_ She always starts repeating segments of her sentence when she gets really livid about something, which was something so characteristically  _Chloe_ and it really solidified it that—

—Wow. This is Chloe. My childhood friend telling me what a terrible piece of shit I am. And she's right. Fuck.

I notice that she starts tearing up.

  "Please  _stop—"_

"No! I'm done. I'm fucking  _done._ I've been trying to put up with your bullshit for way too long Michael. I'm tired of being your little messenger fairy. Talk to me again after Jeremy fucking  _dies_."

  And with that she left me on her doorstep, slamming the door in my face, not without shoving me backwards a bit before too.

  I stand there, unable to formulate words or thoughts for a solid minute.

As I stagger home, I go over what she said in my mind.

She's right.

_She's fucking right._

  I care about Jeremy so  _fucking_  much, but the pain is becoming too much for me. I live every waking moment wondering if he's still alive or if he's okay or maybe if I said something stupid and that made him cry again but he's too scared to tell me, and then  _oh fuck_ what if he dies and the last thing I told him was some dumb shit and—

  I don't  _want_ Jeremy to die, or well—I guess you could put it like that—But that's such a crude way of saying it. I'm not actively wishing that Jeremy drops dead, not even  _close_  to it, I  _want_ him to live for God's sake. I'd give up my life just for his. But it's just been a thought in the back of my mind that if Jeremy died this all would be easier.

  I wouldn't have to worry when he'll die, because it'll be over with. I'm a huge believer in the whole "Don't cry over spilt milk!" idiom that my mama taught me the day I dropped all my Nik-Naks on the floor. Because if something is over and done with and nothing can be changed, why cry about it? Jeremy being alive at the moment is stressing me out beyond any kind of actual rational belief. Because I  _know_ something can be done about it. I  _know_ that there's a chance he'll still be alive by the end of this.

  However, one of two things could happen:

  He could live, or he could die.

  Imagine you're taking a test and you come across a question you didn't study for. It's either A or B, you don't know. So you take a wild guess. You don't get the test for another month, so you stress about that specific question that  _entire month_  until you get the test back. When you get the test back, and see your answer was either right or wrong, there's no use worrying about it anymore, because there's nothing you can do about it. You either got it right or you didn't, end of story.

  Jeremy's like that.

  I want him to live, but if he dies then at least I know he did. Then at least I don't wake up every morning thinking: "I should text him to make sure he's still breathing."

  I don't want him to die, so if he lives, then I won't wake up every morning thinking that either.

  I just want to get the test back.

  I just want to see which answer is right so I can stop  _worrying._

But there is no test. There is no real answer. Because this is just a bad metaphor that I use to try and explain my  _selfish_ feelings.

  That's what I am. I'm fucking  _selfish._

It's just like Jake said. If Jeremy knew I thought of him as "the kid I need to make happy before he dies" he'd be absolutely heartbroken. And he is. But as the days had gone by and our bond has grown stronger, I've realized Jeremy is  _more_ than that.  _A lot_  more.

  And maybe if I listened to Chloe a little sooner...

  But that's besides the point. Point is Chloe's pissed at me.

  Suddenly my shoulders tense.  _Oh my god, she's going to tell Jeremy._

I scramble for my phone and I click on her caller ID, misclicking at least fourteen times.

  I call her three times and she declines all three of them. I start panicking. Chloe doesn't know my side of the story. What if she tells Jeremy I want him to die? I don't want him to fucking die! Oh my god—

   **me:** ANSWER MY CALLS

I pray to a God that I do not believe in, that she sees this as an acceptable loophole, because technically after the whole "talk to me after Jeremy fucking dies" spiel, I think I can safely make the assumption that texting does not count as talking.

   **chlo:**  i'm busy

 **me:** when you said talk to me after jeremy dies you didn't actually mean it right

 **me:** texting doesn't count as talking then right

   **me:** where are you please i just want to speak in person

 **chlo:** yes i did mean it  
 ****  
 **chlo:** and im going to jeremy's

   **me:** no please

   **me:** no please don't tell him

   **me:** please i want to explain

   **chlo:** fuck off i gave you plenty of explaining time

 **chlo:**  he's having anxiety problems so i'm going over to his house

 **chlo:** unless you're willing to face jeremy then you're not allowed to face me

   **me:** WHATST HEs HAVING ANXIETU PROBLEMD WHYW  
 _read: 8:34AM_

I freak out and I drop my phone immediately. She's not going to reply. She left me on read. She said she wasn't going to talk to me in person until after Jeremy  _dies_ and just that statement makes me want to vomit.

I know Chloe can be kind of an ass sometimes, but overall she has good intentions, would she really tell Jeremy all the shit she yelled at me a minute ago?

  A rational part of speaks out and says:  _'No, of course not. Jeremy just had a panic attack. She wouldn't unload that on him right now. And besides, all that shit she said a minute ago was only the heat of the moment, right?"_

However, a much bigger part of me was screaming: ' _SKSKSKSK JEREMY JSUT AHD A FUCNKING PANIC ATTTACK AND SHE'S GOING TO TELLL HIM EVERYHTING!!!"_

I decided to listen to that part.

  Why the fuck did Jeremy have anxiety problems all of a sudden? What if she already told him and that's why he had anxiety problems in the first place? I mean, I've been gone long enough for her to do something like that.

  I bury my head in my hands and groan, my entire body shaking.

  I am so fucked.


	26. I May Be Dumb But I’m Not Stupid

  "I-I... I just don't know what to do," I ramble pathetically to my mom, staring down at my half-finished stroopwafels, not having the heart to finish them, "Jake and Christine are ignoring me, Chloe told me not to talk to her until after Jeremy dies, Rich is unbelievably angry, all his other friends are kinda clueless but are super stuck on 'protecting Jeremy from me' like I'm some kind of predator. I just don't know what to do anymore."

 

  "Why don't you talk to him?" My mom offers.

 

  I sigh, "No, I literally already did that. I talked to Chloe and Rich, and everyone else is ignoring me and they all take the long way round in the halls just so that they don't have to deal with me."

 

  "Not them, I meant Jeremy," she idly makes some preoccupied gestures with her wooden spoon.

 

  Somehow that didn't register in my mind, "I can... I can talk to Jeremy?"

 

  "Seriously, Michael," she rolled her eyes playfully, "You didn't think of talking to the guy who you made sad in the first place? Even if you make things right with Chloe, Jeremy will still be hurt. If you take the problem at its source and make Jeremy feel better, then everyone will see you had no ill intent, and then they'll all forgive you."

 

  "Th—I.... Woah."

 

  "I thought I raised you better than this," she joked, "Just go make amends with him, alright? You don't have to finish your stroopwafels, you're probably not hungry."

 

  "I... Wait, hold on, it isn't that easy, mom," I say, pushing my plate of stroopwafels towards her, "How would I even go about talking to him? I have to apologize for everything I said, and I... don't really know how?"

 

  "Y'know... you never told me what you said," she said slowly, but sternly.

 

  "It's not important," I say a bit too fast for it to be inconspicuous.

 

"Come on, Michael, I'm your mom. I'm not going to stop talking to you just because you told Jeremy something dumb."

 

"Well, uhm... I, uh..." I mumble some meaningless encouragement to myself before continuing, "I basically like... told Jake that I didn't actually care about Jeremy, like the day after I first talked to him again, and uh, y'know... that whole... I broke up with him in a really mean way back in seventh grade, which was uncool of me. Rich kinda like... he told Jeremy... why I asked him out in fourth grade in the first place."

 

  "Why did you ask him out in fourth grade?"

 

  "It's whatever. I don't wanna talk about it."

 

  "Why did you tell Jake you didn't care about Jeremy?"

 

  "I dunno. I just wanted to act like the tough macho guy, and for some reason in my head that meant not caring about people's feelings and stuff. I dunno. It's dumb."

 

  "You're right, it is," my mom laughs light-heartedly, "It's okay, Michael. Just tell him the truth. Just tell him word-for-word what you told me just now."

 

  "What if he doesn't forgive me?"

 

  "Well, he's under no obligation to forgive you. If you just apologize to him, then maybe he'll give you a second chance," she scrapes my unfinished stroopwafels into her own plate.

 

  I sighed, "More like a third chance. I'm a horrible friend."

 

  Mom pouted, "Oh, Michael, that's not true. You really do care about Jeremy, and Mama and I know you do, you just need to make it more obvious to him and his friends."

 

  "How do I even... How do I even start a conversation like that?" I felt my voice getting heavier, "I... I can't just show up at his house and start talking, and besides, if I knock, the chances of him opening up for me is below zero. If all his friends are ignoring me, chances are he will too."

 

  "What if he does open up though, Michael? You'll never know if you don't try."

 

"Mom, don't go all cliché on me," I tried to joke, but my voice betrayed me, "I didn't want to go to him first, because I wanted to give him space, but... it's... it's been a while... then again, I don't really know how much space he really needs, and just... I dunno. I'm lost."

 

"Apologizing to him is the first step, okay? Just make it up to him," she reached over to ruffle my hair and gave me a soft smile, "You can do it, Mike. If you do it I'll make you chicken adobo, how does that sound?"

 

  I took in a deep breath and decide that if that was what was on the line I'd be willing to go through with it, "Okay, yeah, fine, I'll talk to him, okay?"

 

She smiles at me again, "I know you will, honey. Have fun, alright?"

 

  I nod, taking a shaky breath and I stand up to go back to my room.

 

  "Wait, where are you going?"

 

  I turn around to face her, "Uhh, my room?"

 

  "I thought you were going to go visit Jeremy, though."

 

  "Oh, you mean like right now?"

 

  "I mean, I don't see a reason why not," she sets down her mixing bowl and walks over to me, "I know you're scared, but it's going to be fine, okay Michael? Just get it over with," she whispered, pulling me into a hug.

 

  I sigh, reciprocating the hug half-heartedly, "Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I'll go."

 

"Great!" she pecks me on the forehead, "You'll do great, promise."

 

  And great I did.

 

  Just kidding.

 

  I mean, unless your definition of "great" is standing outside your friend's house for fifteen minutes, being scared to knock, and hoping that the gods smile down upon you and hope that he sees you through the window somehow.

 

  He did not.

 

  I knocked at the door in a little pattern, hoping that it'd at least give the illusion of light-heartedness.

 

  I was hoping that maybe Mr. Heere would open up, because in all honesty I don't think I could handle facing Jeremy right now.

 

  My prayers were not answered, because the person that answered the door was definitely not Mr. Heere.

 

  I instinctively screw my eyes shut, waiting for him to yell at me.

 

  "Michael?" Jeremy asks slowly.

 

  "Uh. Jeremy. Hello."

 

"Michael..." he choked on his own words, "Oh my god, Michael..."

 

"Hey Jere," I smiled at him haphazardly, "Uh, I just wanted to, uhm... a-apologize?" I hesitated, thinking of the best way to phrase my apology. I decided that I've been absolutely awful at words as of late, so instead, I just held my arms out.

 

It didn't take a second before Jeremy had flung his arms around my neck, "Michael! I'm so sorry, I just blindly believed what Rich told me without thinking that it might be biased and I wouldn't let you talk and I kept interrupting you and I just acted in the heat of the moment and I missed you so so much, and—and— and—"

 

  He was talking so fast I literally could not make out a word he was saying, "Woah, woah, slow down, okay? I'm so sorry. You don't have to explain yourself, I fucked up and I should be the one talking, okay?"

 

Jeremy pulled on my sleeve and dragged me inside, "Let's talk inside, okay?"

 

  When he dragged me inside, it felt like I was visiting my old childhood home. Technically, the last time I was there was probably a week or so ago, but it had felt like ages. It still smelt like wet cat and old expired incense that his dad didn't bother to replace.

 

  I sat down on the couch awkwardly, waiting for Jeremy to speak. The problem with that was that he was also awkwardly sitting on the couch, waiting for me to speak.

 

  "So, uhm, I should, uhhh... probably apologize for everything I did... and everything I said..." I said, biting my lip so hard that Vlad the Impaler would congratulate me.

 

  Jeremy was staring down at his lap, his hair hanging in his face.

 

"Uh, Jere?"

 

"I, uhm... I was really worried," he looks up at me with glassy eyes and a crooked smile.

 

It's nowhere near the saddest thing Jeremy's said, not even in the top one hundred, but something about it made my heart ache, and I started talking on auto-pilot, "Oh no, baby, I'm so sorry..."

 

  "No, no, it's whatever," he laughed, "Y-You're here now! That's all that matters, right?"

 

  "You don't have to forgive me, you know."

 

  "I... I don't?" He furrows his brow, "But... I want to... I want to start over, okay? You don't even have to explain yourself. I just want to be your friend again."

 

  "Jeremy, no, that's not how it works. The least I owe you is an explanation, and you really deserve an apology. You don't even have to accept it. We can still be friends even if you don't forgive me straight away, okay? You can take your time."

 

  Jeremy sniffs and lets out another forced laugh, "I, well, uhm, I do actually... really want an explanation... so uh, that'd be pretty cool if you could... y'know..."

 

  "Got it," I feel a warm wash of shame overcome me for a hot second, "Okay, so, uhm... that whole thing in fourth grade, doesn't really have an... an excuse. I wanted to break up with you publicly because I was upset that a handful of people were harrassing you for being gay. I don't... I don't have an excuse. I was just being dumb."

 

Jeremy smiles at me nervously, "That's... that's okay. We all do dumb things. I... forgive you for that, okay?"

 

"You don't have to."

 

"I'm going to."

 

I felt a shaky sigh of relief come out of my mouth, "That whole thing where I told Jake I didn't care about you, I was lying. I did. I wanted to act tough around Jake, and somehow I thought that meant not caring about anything, and it was wrong and stupid of me. I... I do care about you Jeremy. A lot. And I did a shit job of showing it."

 

  Jeremy stood up, reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet.

 

  "Everything okay?"

 

  He nodded and pulled me in for a hug, "Missed you."

 

  "I won't do it again, I promise."

 

  His grip around my neck tightened, and it sent shocks of electricity down my spine. "I... I tried to call your moms. I told my dad to call them, to make sure that you were doing okay, but he assured me you'd be fine, which, uh... you are, right? You're okay?"

 

  I pulled away from him, my hands resting on his hips. I looked in his eyes for a second before realizing that I actually needed to respond, "Oh, uh, yeah! Yeah, I'm fine. All of your friends kinda hate me now though."

 

  "I'm so sorry."

 

  "Hey, you shouldn't be apologizing okay?” I decide to lighten up the situation a little, “Hey, I want you to repeat after me: I, Jeremy Heere, am sorry for absolutely nothing."

 

  He giggled lightly, "I, Jeremy Heere, am sorry for a couple of things."

 

  "Nuh-uh! Say it right, dumbass!"

 

  Jeremy started giggling again and God, I missed his laugh. He took one of my hand and held it to his chest, "I, Jeremy Heere, am sorry for absolutely nothing."

 

  "You better be," I joke, "Uhm, can I... can I stay the night? I just wanna catch up and stuff and—"

 

  "Yes, yes, yes! Please? I missed talking to you, and Amazon finally delivered me the new Megaman game, but I didn't want to play it until you came over and—"

 

  "So, Megaman sleepover?"

 

  "Megaman sleepover!" he agreed, jumping on his heels excitedly.

 

  "Wait, wait, wait, before we do that, I just want to get absolutely everything out of the way, okay?" I still needed to ask him about that entire thing that Chloe told me. I make a vague gesture for him to sit down on the couch.

 

He complies, and I follow afterwards, “Let ‘em rip, bud.”

 

“Okay, so, uh... Chloe told me... she told me something? And I just wanted to double-check with you, okay? If you don’t want to talk about it, then just say the word. I just want to make sure that she didn’t just say it to scare me.”

Jeremy looked slightly nervous, “I, uh, okay. What is it?”

 

“Jeremy, do you... do you want to get cremated?”

 

He looks at me for a moment, deadpan, before he breaks off into a small pained smile, “I’m... I’m so sorry, Michael.”

 

“You told me you weren’t going to die.”

 

“I’m not, I have this whole radiotherapy thing going for me, I promise I’m not,” Jeremy said earnestly.

 

“Are you saying that because that’s what you genuinely believe, or are you saying that because you know that’s what I want to hear?”

 

Jeremy’s expression faltered and he sighed, “It’s just... It’s just so f-fucking unfair.”

 

“You wanna talk about it?”

 

“Tomorrow? When we wake up? I just wun’ play Megaman and call you a dumbass an’ shit...” his words start slurring together a bit, but he didn’t look like he was crying at all, so my best friend instincts decided that they were not needed.

 

“That’s okay. Tomorrow then?

 

Jeremy nods, “Tomorrow.”


	27. Jeremy Sucks At Megaman And That's Literally All This Chapter's About

  Something doesn't  _feel_  right.

  It hurt.

  Something hurt.

  My chest hurt.

  What is happening?

  Just a minute ago Jeremy and I were playing Megaman, and he offered that he could do better, I gave him the controller, and now...

  Jesus Christ.

  He's just playing the game like a normal human being would. I'm not really looking at the game though. I'm looking at Jeremy.

   _Jeremy._

Did he always look... like that?

  He sighs as Dynamo Man kills Megaman the third time, and his posture slumps, "Ugh, this is impossible!" He harshly slid the controller in my direction, "Just take it. I'm carrying on my misery to you."

  I don't react.

  Jeremy's eyebrows scrunch together and for no reason at all my chest feels so much warmer, "Hey, you okay?"

  He's using this little soft voice, a bit hoarse from trying different treatments and therapies, but still as gentle as it's always been. My heart goes all funny and it makes my breath hitch as my eyes shot up to meet his.

  "Michael?" he says again, the concern in his voice growing, "You wanna take a break? You okay? You need an icepack?"

  I stay quiet.

  "Okay, I'll go get one for you okay? Let me just—"

  I hold onto his sleeve, "Jeremy."

  He holds still, looking at me intently, waiting for me to respond, "Yeah?"

  "Jeremy..."

  He scoots a bit closer and brushes some hair away from my face, "Yeah? Did I do something wrong?" His expression softens and I get the overwhelming feeling of  _oh my God look at this boy I have to protect him—_

"Jere—I don't..." I scan his eyes, and I feel my own eyes get blurry. My heart starts beating a lot faster than it should be. My heart catches in my throat.

  "Michael?"

  Suddenly the world stops.

  Because all I can think about is Jeremy, and his stupid pretty blue eyes, and his dumb cute freckles, and bubbly laugh, and his soft hands, and his dumb stutter, and his curly mop of hair and his soft li—

  Before I can register what's happening I'm running past Jeremy into the bathroom and dryheaving into the sink and it honest to God feels like I'm turning my guts inside out.

  My lungs feel dry and my blood feels solid and the world is swaying and my heart feels like it's burst and all the blood is flowing into my throat, and any second it feels like I'll cough it all up.

  The world around me becomes clearer, blobs of colour turn into actual shapes, the ringing in my ears go away, the world starts spinning again.

  "-ichael! Michael! Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay?" he forces me to face him and carefully holds my face in his hands, which doesn't help my situation at all and almost made me tear up a bit, "What's wrong? Does your head hurt? I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to you and I didn't realize you were sick—"

"'M not sick..."

"N-not sick? M-Michael! You... you threw up! That's... that's not okay!" his breath starts accelerating.

I take one of the hands he has on my face and I squeeze it softly, "Hey, hey... calm... calm down... 'is okay..."

"Are you okay? Do you need anything? I have some anti-emetic pills in the cupboard downstairs and I'll go get you some if you want, okay?"

"Jeremy... Jeremy, it's okay. I don'... I don' like seeing you all... all worried..." my words come out impossibly slurred.

Jeremy looks at me, concerned, and the burning feeling comes back.

Jeremy... Jeremy... Jeremy, Jeremy,  _Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, Jerem—_

This isn't normal.

The area where he put his hands on my shoulders starts  _burning,_ and I get the sudden need to throw up again.

"Jus' sit here with me..." I slur out, patting the area next to me on the bathroom carpet, "C... C'mon..."

Jeremy nods, "Okay, as long as you promise you're okay?"

"'M okay."

"Okay." Jeremy lets out a shaky sigh of relief, "Okay." He says one last time, sitting next to me hesitantly.

"Just... just give me a moment, okay?" I say, the ability to speak coming back to me.

"It's okay. You need me to leave?"

"Please stay."

Jeremy nods again, hesitating for a second before resting his head on my shoulder.

And it made my heart  _ache._

I remember asking if he still had a crush on me back when we first started talking again, back when I made a fool of myself, and I remember his answer being: "No. I don't feel like that anymore."

_Anymore._

I missed my fucking chance.

  And I don't think that ever settled in until now.

I had an opportunity to get the guy that would've loved me more than I loved him, I had a chance to get a guy that would've made me feel safe and happy, I could've given him all the love and support he needed throughout all those years in high school. Sitting here next to me with his head on my shoulder, trying to comfort me because my sudden realization made me fucking  _vomit,_ and it made my heart swell, but what made my heart swell even more was the fact that he was one foot in the grave.

  I could have been dating this pretty boy with cute freckles and a big heart and a soft flowery voice and an adorable smile and everything would be  _okay_ and I would be able to hold him in my arms no matter  _what_ happens and—

  And...

And suddenly everything Chloe said sinked in. Everything she said about: ' _You're_  the reason he stutters so much.  _You're_  the reason he talks so softly.  _You're_  the reason his self esteem is so bad.'

I always wrote that off as bullshit. Because partially it is. Those were all basic qualities that Jeremy had that I had no influence on. But finally I understand what she meant.

Yeah, those may just be apart of Jeremy's personality, but if I hadn't broken up with him, and I was there to help him through all those tough years in high school, then...

Then maybe he wouldn't stutter as much. Maybe he wouldn't talk so softly. Maybe he wouldn't dislike himself so much. Maybe he'd smile more. Maybe he'd be more open about his feelings. Maybe he'd be okay.

  Maybe all he needed was a kid stupid enough to fall in love with him as much as he had fallen in love with me.

  And maybe I could've been that stupid kid.

  And maybe I was that stupid kid for those three years until I convinced myself I wasn't.

And maybe I  _am_  that stupid kid right now.

I think I like Jeremy.

I think I like Jeremy romantically.

I think I am falling in love with Jeremy.

My breath picks up pace and my eyes start getting blurry again, but I  _refuse_ to have another blackout like I did a few mere seconds ago.

The air seems to evaporate and the oxygen in the room seems to thin out.

I look over at Jeremy and it feels like my lungs have been put into an iron maiden.

He carefully lifts his head from my shoulder and looks at me with those eyes,  _those fucking eyes, holy shit—_ "Michael..."

My voice goes all funny, "Uh, y-yeah?"

  "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

  I melt, "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

  "Is everything going okay?"

  "I dunno, I just got a bit light-headed, I swear I'm fine, okay?"

  "Yeah, alright. You scared me," he giggled slightly and  _fuck,_ "I'm here if you need to talk, so if something's bothering you, then just say the word. Promise you will?"

  "Promise."

  He smiles at me and I can feel my brain turn to mush. A flutter of electricity shoots through my spine.

  He reverts back to our previous position where he was resting his head on my shoulder, and I felt the sudden urge to cry. I want to have this feeling last forever, I want him to be close to me all the time, I want to have a recording of him saying my name on repeat, I want  _him,_ but—

  I can't.

  I just can't.

  Because I fucked it all up.

  I tell the butterflies in my stomach to shut the fuck up, I tell my heart to to go away from my throat and back into my chest, and I tell my lungs to actually recognize the oxygen around me.  
  
  I close my eyes and exhale out of my nose, resting my head on top of Jeremy's.

  Because in that moment,  
    
  Nothing else matters.


	28. Yikes

Jeremy dramatically fell back against the couch with a sharp  _thump_ as he got banned from Club Penguin on his fourth e-mail account, "Those were the only four e-mail accounts I have! What am I supposed to do now?"

"You can use mine if you want."

Jeremy laughed softly and it made my heart flutter, "I appreciate the offer, but I'd hate to get you banned from Club Penguin."

"Well, if Club Penguin's out of the window, and you're bored of Megaman, and I refuse to play any kind of Sonic game, what else do you wanna do?"

"Hmmm..." Jeremy leans into the couch and presses closer into my side, tilting his head to snuggle into the crook of my neck, which  _totally didn't_  want to make me spontaneously combust, "Sleep?"

"Uh... I... I hate to bring this up, but I thought you were going to expand on that whole  _you_   _want to be cremated_  thing?"

Jeremy noticeably tenses. He rips his head away from me and scans my face for a second, "Tomorrow. I said tomorrow."

"Okay, that's cool," I promise, making an effort to sound as calm as possible. The last thing I want to do right now is make Jeremy upset. After losing him for what seemed like ages and then being reunited only for me to realize my stupid romantic feelings, even making him mildly sad would make me lose my fucking mind.

"So, sleep?"

I smiled instinctively, "Yeah, let's go, bud."

My heart was admittedly still recovering from the sudden realization of how astonishingly gorgeous Jeremy is, and how amazingly adorable his personality is, and how he makes my voice go an octave higher. My brain was still slowly trying to process all of that.

As you can imagine, having those new founded feelings, and then having to sleep in the same bed as said person you recently found out you had feelings for, all while said person is  _extraordinarily_ cuddly, it all becomes an issue.

I thought that maybe somehow I'd get out of it by sleeping on the complete opposite side of the bed, but somehow Jeremy still managed to roll over and get his legs tangled up in mine.

And in all honesty: I don't mind.

I wrap my arms around his waist, because  _fuck it._ What harm does it bring?

And that's the way we stayed the entire night.

But we couldn't stay like that forever.

Because at some point Jeremy had to explain.

Somehow, somewhere, Jeremy and Chloe had a conversation where Jeremy said that when he died, he wanted to be cremated. Which fucked me up, considering Jeremy very specifically told me that he was  _not_ going to die.

Chloe then promptly informed me that Jeremy didn't tell me about his worries of dying, because he didn't want me to stress about it.

And that's what our current conversation was  _supposed_ to be about, but instead it was just a mutual silence between the both of us.

  We'd woken up and eaten breakfast in a painful silence, that clearly bothered both of us, but neither of us made any effort to change it.

After a few minutes of soft mumbling and sniffing from my cold, Jeremy spoke up.

"So... uh... you wanted to... I... Yeah. Chloe was... she was right. I want to get cremated."

"And why did you tell her that?"

"So that if I die, she'll know," Jeremy says, with absolutely no waver in his voice, "I... I'm sorry. I hate talking about death around you because I don't want you to worry about me."

"Why shouldn't I? Jeremy, answer me honestly. I don't give a  _shit_  what the actual facts are, or what your doctor told you, I want to hear your honest and true opinion on this: Do you think you're going to die?"

A silence.

A beat.

"Yes."

I take in a shaky inhale and I can already feel tears well up in my eyes.

"S-see! Th-that's why... why I didn't wanna tell you... because... look! I made you cry now!" He said, his voice starting to get a bit shakiness to it, "My doctors say I'll... I'll be fine, but... I..." he sighs.

I stay quiet.

  "It's just so..." he sighs, "I don't know. I feel like these past few months just didn't happen."

  "Uhm... past few months of what?"

  "Like, the day I got diagnosed with cancer 'til now. I feel like I should've woken up a long time ago," he tries to explain, making vague hand gestures that don't really mean anything.

  "I, uh... what—?"

  "It's almost like... like I've just been subconsciously, like... p-pretending that what's happening right now isn't  _real_. Like, as a kid, cancer was only that thing you saw in movies or read in books, and just... and now I'm here. I, Jeremy Heere, have  _cancer_. A disease that was so  _insignificant_  and  _erased_  from my life that it might as well have been fictional," he starts speaking really fast, hyperventilating.

  "Just let it all out, okay? I'm here to listen."

  "L-Like—" he starts blinking back tears. Usually I would've stopped him there, but I feel like Jeremy deserves a good cry right now, "I know I'm getting radiotherapy soon, but it's just so fucking  _surreal_ , because... I feel like the fact that I have cancer h-has just set in... The  _fact_  that I have cancer—The  _fact._ I-I have  _cancer_ , Michael."

  "Yeah, I know bud, it's okay."

  "L-Like w-whi-while I was... I was sitting... I was sitting in the d-doctor's lounge," he was struggling to speak because he was too busy trying to force his sobs back down, "And h-he said that I h-had... I had... I had c-c- _cancer_ —" He almost flinches at the word, "I-I was like,  _haha, oh yeah sure b-buddy!_ A-and I'm trying t-to be optimis—" He doesn't get to finish his thought as he frantically uses his sleeves to dry any tears threatening to fall.

"I-I-I'm tryna be op...optimistic! I-I'm really tryin'!" His words all starts slurring together, "B-But, I-I don't even know  _how_ to be o-optimistic anymore!"

  I frown, turning my body so our knees are touching, "Hey, hey. Look at me. Relax. It's alright, okay? You don't have to be happy right now," I tuck a few stray hairs behind his ear as he nods, letting out a sniff.

"I-I dunno... I dunno what to do anymore. It really hurts. My throat hurts. It hurts to eat and drink and swallow and, and—" he screws his eyes shut, "My chest hurts  _all_  the time, everything just feels so... so  _wrong."_

"Hey, yeah," I mumble nothings, "It's okay, okay? Everything's okay. I get it. I know."

"I wanna be... I wanna be optimistic so bad..."

"You don't have to be."

"But like, th-the thing is..." He takes a breath, and his voice is ten times higher than it usually is, "I d-don't fucking want people to feel bad for me! I-I don't want any fuckin'—" he lets out a sniff, "Fuckin' sympathy! I'd rather have bad shit happen to me than nothing happen to me. At least I'll learn something from it, right?" His voice quiets down and he lets out a pained choked noise, "If nothing happens to me, then that's just fuckin' boring. At least if bad things happen I have a story to tell."

He stays quiet for a minute and pulls his sleeves over his hands, clutching the material, "But it doesn't count, does it? Because I won't fucking  _live_ to tell this one! And, and—!" He finally lets it all out and starts sobbing, collapsing in onto himself.

And I don't know what to do.

I've never really been exposed to such raw emotion, so I just sit there stunned for a moment. And then my mind interrupts me like:  _hey you should probably do something about your crying friend._

I pull him into a hug, deciding not to say anything.

  I was expecting Jeremy to flinch away or to at least tense, but instead he just melted into it completely, wrapping his arms around my neck, his sobs racking his body. This was probably some shit he kept with him in his heart for ages. Just let him cry it out for a while.

  "Hey, it's okay, radiotherapy, remember? You're gonna be okay again soon, okay?" I say over and over again, almost like a mantra, "You don't have to be optimistic, you can say anything as negative as you want. Then when the time comes and you get radiotherapy, all the negativity will be out of your system, and then all you can do is smile, you get me?"

I feel him nod against my chest.

I lift his chin up, "Hey look at me," when he finally meets my eye, I say: "You know what? This fucking  _sucks_. No need to sugarcoat it around me, okay? It's not selfish to think that this sucks, even if you're going to get cured soon. In the meantime, this fucking  _sucks."_

Jeremy sniffs and then looks me in the eyes, smiling crookedly, "Y-You're right, it  _does_ fucking suck. This  _sucks_. This is  _actually_ the fucking  _worst."_

"This is bullshit," I agree.

"It is! This is the biggest  _sack_ of fucking  _bullshit_."

  "It really is."

  "This sucks  _dick_. Like  _massive_  dick. Like the most oblong schlong you've ever seen in your life."

  I start giggling at 'oblong schlong,' and so does he. And now we're just leaning in to each other, laughing at our own stupid jokes. Jeremy has tear streaks down his face, my eyes are burning, but somehow we're laughing at more than just Jeremy's dick joke.

  Jeremy looks at me gratefully, "I... it still hurts."

  "I know. It's gonna hurt for a while."

  "A long while?"

  "A long while."

  He sniffs, "Yeah... r-really long..."

  "Do you feel better at least?"

  Jeremy lets out a haphazard laugh, "Y-yeah... a lot... I just... y-you're here! And you... you make everything better, and—" he cuts himself off with this big cute smile that makes my organs swell.

"Cancer's a bitch, dude," is the only sentence I can seem to articulate, "And you're gonna kick its  _ass."_

Jeremy starts giggling again, "Maybe... Maybe I will," He trails his fingertips over my arms slowly, "I... I never thought about that."

"Thought about what?"

"I could've just... I didn't have to be all... optimistic an' stuff... I should've just gotten all the negativity in me out so it didn't get all bottled up."

I smile adoringly, studying his face as he plays with my fingers, "Yeah, this is objectively a bad situation, and it's good to be optimistic, but just... don't keep all your emotions building up in your throat like that without ever spilling them."

  "I... thank you. Michael... I... I really... yeah. I... y'know. Yeah," he says, and I don't really get what means, but I just nod in response.

  Jeremy looked up at me one last time before humming, and then going back to fiddling with my fingers.

  I start zoning out, and I kind of just start doing things without having full awareness of the gravity of the situation.

  Without my brain's permission, my hands find themselves tugging at Jeremy's hoodie strings. Jeremy looks at me, with his eyebrows furrowed. There's maybe one and a half inches between us.

  "Michael?" He asks, tilting his head.

  And that head tilt was what fucking did it for me.

  I lose any sense of fear or control I had, and I pulled him in.


	29. So This Is Just A Thing That's Happening Now I Guess

Jeremy's shoulders went stiff, and so did mine, because for a moment I think that I fucked up. My brain decides to interrupt, saying that I should probably be pulling away now. So that's what I did.

Correction: That's what I tried to do.

Because Jeremy wrapped his arms around my neck, tilted his head and he kissed back. Suddenly the screaming that engulfed my brain the day Christine told me that Jeremy got all blushy and giggly around me came back. He uncrosses his legs so that he could scoot closer. My mind was blaring emergency signals.

My mind starts piecing together what's happening:

I am kissing Jeremy Heere.

Jeremy Heere is kissing me back.

Everywhere he touches it burns. The back of my neck is on fire. My subconscious was completely useless, all it did was scream: "Jeremy? Jeremy? Jeremy! Jeremy!!!" sixteen million times, instead of giving me actual advice on kissing Pretty Boy McGee here. All I could do was lean in.

I started smiling, and so did Jeremy, and ultimately our teeth started clashing, and what once was a kiss turned into a big nerd fest with nothing but two dumbasses pressing their lips together.

Realizing that we're both too dorky and too smiley to actually kiss at all, I pull away.

  All he can get out is: "Oh..."

  I respond in a similar fashion: "Oh wow."

  Jeremy's eyes fluttered open and when he saw my face he...

  He started laughing.

And usually, I'd feel self-conscious. Whether or not he was laughing at me or the situation was a mystery, but I actually felt comfortable.

I was so  _vulnerable_ and I felt like my emotions were just oozing out of me, and usually that'd freak me out, but something that was hanging on my heart told me that Jeremy would take good care of my feelings and that I wouldn't have to worry about them being scattered about.

And before I could ask him why he was laughing, he pulled me back in.

The kiss lasted about two seconds before I decided to pull back: "Wait, Jeremy," I cupped his cheek, "Can we talk about this for a second? This is a little... uh... spur of the moment..."

"C'mon! Kiss!"

"Jere, we talk, then kiss."

He sighed, "I love you! There! We talked about it! Kiss!"

"Wait. Just wait. Hold on," my mind is swarming with all kinds of thoughts, "I... wow."

I can physically see Jeremy's confidence crumble, and I see a hint of self-consciousness start to bubble in his expression, "I, uh... Y-you like me back? True or false?"

"True."

"C-Can you say it?"

"Say what? Say that I love you?"

Jeremy starts smiling, "Maybe."

"I love you!"

Jeremy's cheekbones look like they're going to fall off his face because how much he's smiling, "Say it again?"

"Okay," I kiss him on the cheek, "I!" I kiss him on the forehead, "Love!" I peck him on the lips, "You!"

And now I understand what Christine meant when she said that Jeremy got all giggly and blushy whenever he talked about me. He looked like a mess right now, all red and smiley. I could probably say the same for myself though. I don't know what I looked like, but I think the fact that my face felt like it was on fire was tell-tale.

"Damn, 13-year-old Jeremy would be ecstatic right now," He giggled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. I realize that his smile looked a bit watery. My eyes snap up, and I can see him tearing up.

"I love you so much, oh my god."

Now Jeremy's crying, and I soon realize that I'm crying too, and it's a mess.  _We're_ a mess. "So, uh, uhm... we, uh... we d-dating now or what?" He stumbles out.

"Yeah, I think so?" I say unsurely, my eyes darting up and down at Jeremy's facial expression, "I don't know! The romcoms my mom watched when I was eight didn't prepare me for post-kiss conversations."

"Let's make it a pre-kiss conversation then," Jeremy suggests, smiling before pressing his lips to mine again, trying to deepen it as much as possible. I could literally feel my brain turn to mush. I feel so much lighter. It's like my bones were hollow and my organs were made out of air. I felt like if I had let go of Jeremy's waist I'd float off.

  Jeremy pulls away abruptly, "Your glasses are stabbing me in the face," he laughs, rubbing the bridge of his nose where my glasses supposedly impaled him.

  "Oops."

  Jeremy giggles and looks me up and down. He runs a hand through my hair, "Ooo... pretty."

  "Pretty?"

  "Pretty."

  "Who?"

  "You!"

  "Me?"

  "You're pretty!" Jeremy insists.

  "You're prett _ier."_

Jeremy opens his mouth to retort, but just ends up breaking off into the same soft giggles that made me fall in love with him in the first place.

  "I... holy... holy  _shit,_ dude," I run a hand through my hair shakily, "I'm... we're dating? You're... you're my boyfriend?"

  "Yeah!"

  "This is going to... take a while... to process..." I hesitate, "So I can like, call you cute and stuff? With zero consequences?"

  "The only consequences are that I'll kiss you and call you cute back, dumbass."

   I can literally feel the weight of my body and my organs press into the bed underneath me, and my mind seems to lag behind, "You have your legs around my waist."

  "Correct."

  "You are sitting in my lap right now."

"Yes, I am aware."

"Oh my god... we're... we're dating..."

Jeremy can't help but laugh again, "Oh my god! Look at you! You're so dumb! My stupid dumb boyfriend! I love you!"

"Hey, you can't be cheesy!"

"Says the guy who still can't believe he's dating some random twink he met in fourth grade _."_

"Damn... we're really dating, huh?" I scratch the back of my neck in disbelief.

"I have said so several times."

  "Woah..."

  We stare at each other in the eyes for a moment. Jeremy wraps his arms around my neck before he starts giggling, "You got..." He takes one of his hands and pokes my cheek, "You have dimples! Look at you!"

"Sure do," I laugh jokingly, and my grip around his waist instinctively tightens, because  _holy shit look at this loser I have to protect him._

"Man, I wish I had cool little holes in my cheeks. They're adorable."

"Man, I wish I had little dumb dots on my face. They're adorable," I joke, rubbing a thumb over his freckles.

"Nooooooo..."

  "I love you," I blurt out instinctively, "Sorry, that was kind of out of the blue, but I just really,  _really_  love you and—"

  "Hey, I love you too, ahavah," he smiles at me earnestly and I feel my heart scream.

  "I—Wait. Ah... Aha... Ahav..."

  "Don't try to say it, you're going to butcher it," he giggles again and every time he laughs still feels like the first time I heard it, back in fourth grade when it made my heart kind of hurt, and I couldn't place exactly why, "Ahavah means love in Hebrew."

  "You just called me... love... in Hebrew... your native language... that is... very cute..."

  "I'm getting the idea you're having trouble formulating sentences," he jokes.

  "I... I dunno... I'm usually so comfortable with people... but holy shit... you make my heart go all badoing badoing and stuff..."

  "I'm usually so nervous around people, but I just feel so comfortable around you for some reason. We've exchanged powers," he humours me, and literally everything he says makes my stomach tie into knots.

  "You've leeched off of my social skills, of which I had very little in the first place, so good luck with that," I roll my eyes.

  "You haven't kissed me in a while."

  "You want me to?"

  "Please?"

  And so I did.


	30. I Am Going To Fucking Marry This Gorgeous Boy And That Is A Promise

"Mr. Heere?"

"Michael? Is everything alright? Where's Jeremy?"

"Oh. Uhm. Yeah. Sorry about that. He fell asleep at my house and I didn't have the heart to wake him up," I laughed nervously, "Uh, I wanted to... I wanted to talk to you  _about_ Jeremy, actually."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to... to uh, ask for your blessing, to, uhm... date... d-date your son?"

"You're... you're dating Jeremy?"

I nod my head, twiddling my thumbs anxiously.

He gives me his stereotypical dad smile, "I think that's lovely! My, invite me to your wedding, won't you?" He said as supportively as possible, and his Hebrew accent got stronger and I almost burst into tears because  _holy shit this old man is almost as cute as his son—_

"Y-you're, like, okay with that? I... He's like... allowed to be my boyfriend and stuff?"

"'Course, son! Even if I didn't like you as much as I do, I don't get to control who Jeremy dates. As long as he's happy. And he couldn't have chosen a friendlier boy!" He ruffles my hair and I get the overwhelming need to cry.

"So... so like... I have your... your blessing and stuff?"

"Absolutely!"

  My jaw starts hurting from smiling so much, "I... Thank you so much, Mr Heere."

"None of that Mr. Heere nonsense. Call me dad!"

I legitimately start tearing up then and there, "Th-thanks,  _dad."_

As if that didn't make me ecstatic enough, the one person who was somehow even happier than I am, was Jeremy Heere himself.

"He let you call him dad? Seriously? Like... holy  _shit,_ I'm so..." He makes some frantic hand movements that mean " _!!!!!!!!"_ and I can't help but smile my cheekbones off, "I'm so happy! Just... ugh, look at you! You're like... you're my boyfriend!"

  "I am!"

  "You are!"

  "I love you!"

  "I love you too!"

  Jeremy starts giggling, like he always does. There's no way this boy is real. There's  _no_ way.

  He leans into me slightly, playing with my fingers mindlessly, "How do you say I love you in Tagalog?"

Something about that made me instinctively smile, "Mahal kita."

  "Ma... Mawhawl keeta?"

  "Oh my god," I laugh, "No, you don't pronounce the L that much, and it's a short -ee sound. You're not supposed to stretch the -ee sound out that much. A little shorter on the first A too."

  "Mahal... Mahal? Am I saying that right?" He says it with a softer L-sound this time

  "Yeah, that's better."

  "Uhm... keet—kee—kita. Kita? Mahal kita?"

  I almost start melting because hearing those words come out of his mouth makes my heart do backflips, "Yeah, that's right," I give him a smile, "Mahal din kita."

  "Mahal din... din kita. Mahal din kita. Does that mean I love you too?"

  "Sure does, buddy."

  "Don't call me buddy, you kissed me two minutes ago."

  I cupped his cheek and gave him a quick peck on the lips, "Love you, buddy."

  He starts giggling again, "Stop!"

  "What? Would you prefer 'babe?' instead?"

  "I..." Jeremy gave me a look that meant  _shut the fuck up dumbass,_ "Wait, let me try something," he takes a pen out of his pocket and scribbles something on my arm. "!!!אני אוהב אותך" is what it says, but as someone who thought Hebrew was a noun up until a few months ago, it looked like complete gibberish to me.

   I decide to ask for some help: "You read Hebrew right to left, right?"

  "Yep! That's why I put the exclamation marks at the start." Jeremy tapped my skin where he drew the exclamation marks.

  Suddenly it hits me, "Did you just write I love you with three exclamation marks on my arm?"

  "Hmmmmaybe..." he smiles crookedly, "Uh, you pronounce it ani ohev otcha. Or at least you pronounce it like that when it's a guy saying it to another guy. It's different based on gender and stuff."

  "That's so cute, oh my god," I faintly run my finger over the ink, "Anee oheveta? I don't think I'm saying that right..."

  He started giggling, "It's close! Ani is a short ee-sound like in green, and you don't pronounce ohev otcha like oheveta, you pronounce it ohevetra, with a hard R."

  "That's so complicated, what the fuck?" My brain short circuits for a moment and Jeremy stifles a laugh, "Uhm, uh... anee... no, short -ee right?"

  I look at Jeremy for clarification and he nods.

  "Ani... ohev... ot—hard R. Okay. Hard R. I can do that. Ani... ohev... otcha."

  "Perfect! You just have to say it in one go and then you've got it."

  "Ani ohev otcha?"

  "Ding ding ding ding!" He kisses me on the cheek, "One kiss for getting it right!"

  I feel my face force itself into a smile, "Do I get another kiss if I get it right again?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Ani ohev otcha."

  He kisses me on the cheek again, "Mahal din kita."

  Both our faces were on fire, but I couldn't help but snort, "This is so gay."

  He laughs faintly and throws his arms around my neck, "You love it," he insists, "You love  _me_ , in fact."

  "Unfortunately."

  "Not unfortunately! I stole your whole heart, dumbass!" he flicks me against the forehead, "Oh, also! Also! Great news! My radiotherapy! It's starting tomorrow!"

  "I... what? Jere, holy  _shit_ , you need to give a guy some kind of warning before you say stuff like that," I tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear, and lift his chin up to face me, "You're... you're getting it? So, like... after this you'll be...?"

  "Cancer-free! Healthy! Happy! It's going to be amazing," he beamed, "You promised to take care of my cats while I was gone, I hope you're still sticking to that."

  "Of course! They used to be my godchildren but now that we're dating they are technically my daughters. I will protect them with my life."

  "Our lil' lesbian daughters! They're great!" he started clapping his hands together excitedly, "You have to remember to feed them  _everyday_ , and to pet them  _everyday_ , and you have to give Schnappi her anti-emetic pills  _everyday_ , and—"

  "Wait, how long will you be gone for?"

  "Well. they advised I stay at the hospital for five days, and then go home for the weekends, so that my cells can rest and stuff. Technically I could go home during weekdays too, but like... I don't wanna take any risks, y'know?" He sighed, his eyes diverting downwards slightly.

  "Don't worry baby, I get it, it's okay," I said, "I promise I'll take good care of your dumb cats, okay?"

  He laughed dryly, "Thanks, Michael."

"Anything for you."

"Gross."

" _I'm_ gross? Okay, Mr. ' _One kiss for getting it right.'"_

"That was cute though! And original! Everyone says ' _Anything for you_ ,' it's lame," he joked.

"I'm not lame!"

"Are too! I'd totally shove you into a locker if I was some kind of high-school bully."

"Jeremy. you're a theatre kid, you practically  _live_ in that locker."

"I can't believe my boyfriend is bullying me," he said melodramatically, "I'm going to hit you with a traffic light."

"I'll die."

"I will face third degree murder charges."

"What a beautiful love story."

"We're supposed to be talking about how you're going to take care of my cats, not this!" Jeremy flaps his hands around frantically.

"I know how to take care of an animal, Jere."

Jeremy sighs, "We're getting side-tracked! I just wanted to make sure that you're one hundred percent sure that you want to take care of Schnappi and Snoop, this is your last chance to back out. I know they're a handful but—"

"I'll be  _fine_ , Jere, seriously, don't worry your little head about it. I'll give them all the love they need."

"Hmmm," he hums, pressing into my side even further, "Cool."

"You can't sleep now! You woke up an hour ago!"

"Please, baby?" he mumbles and  _holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shi—_

My heart bursts at that, "Uhm, I mean... uh... I mean... s-sure! We can... we can sleep, that's fine—"

Jeremy gives me a sleepy smile and I almost have a stroke, "C'mere, you dork."


	31. Things Go Downhill Rapidly (As They Usually Do)

Taking care of two cats is, unfortunately, much harder than initially anticipated.

I took care of one animal before, and his name was Fish. Fish the fish, remember him? Fish the fish died of fish cancer. Maybe the fact that the one animal I looked after immediately died of brutal fish cancer proved that I was not fit to care for pets.

Yet here I am, surrounded by two of them.

I took Jeremy's warnings lightly when he said that:

A) Snoop was a fucking asshole. (Jeremy didn't say it directly but it was  _heavily_ implied.)

B) Schnappi was a drama queen who required frequent and uninterrupted unconditional love and attention.

C) Schnappi throws up everywhere if you do actually forget to give her her anti-emetic pills. I learned this one the hard way.

Despite that, I did love them. In the same way a mother loves a child, in the ' _you keep yelling at me and complaining about things that I can't control but you are under my roof and therefore I love you'_ way.

Both Schnappi and Snoop were fully convinced that I had no perception of time. I'd feed them and five minutes later they'd come back, asking for more, as if I was completely unaware of the fact that time has not passed.

Schnappi meowed a lot, which wasn't as big of a nuisance as Snoop's technique to somehow acquire more food. Her most iconic move is running in front of me while I'm walking so that I would trip. I don't why she thought that would make me want to feed her again, but whatever, she's special.

Jeremy said that he'd come home from radiotherapy Saturday, and I honest to God almost sobbed, because not only am I insanely tired of these two feline assholes, but I am also insanely tired of the fact that Jeremy had cancer. That was pretty uncool.

And besides, he'd been gone for five entire days, which was probably a new record for us, ignoring that time Rich convinced him I was a dickbag, which I guess in a sense I technically was, but that's all in the past now.

At 9:37 AM (GMT-5) Saturday, there was a knock at the door, and my heart jumped into my throat.

I didn't even comprehend what was happening before I had my arms wrapped around Jeremy and my head stuffed in his neck.

"Jeremy? Are you okay? How'd everything go? What did Dr Charlotte say? Did it hurt? Does it hurt right now? Do you—"

He pulled away from the hug earlier than he usually would.

When I saw his face, my heart skipped a beat. And I suppose you could argue that my heart skips a beat every time I see his face, but this was more so in a negative light.

He looked abnormally pale, and he had red splotches on his neck. He looked painstakingly tired.

"Buddy? Dude? Friend? Guy? Pal?" I hesitated, "Babe?"

He nodded.

"Everything okay? You ain't looking too hot."

He nodded again.

"Cat got your tongue?"

He laughed slightly, but immediately flinched a bit afterwards.

"Jeremy? Are you seriously okay? If you are, then you have to say the words ' _I am okay_ ' out loud."

"I... I am..." he froze, "I am okay."

I almost grimaced. His voice sounded awful. He sounds like someone who's been smoking for thirty five years. I was so used to Jeremy having this impossibly soft voice when we were ten, and now in the distant present all I could remember was that stupid gentle voice of his, but he, admittedly, sounded  _sick._

That's not Jeremy's thing. Jeremy's whole "gimmick" is that if you saw him in the street or you talked to him for a limited amount of time, the thought that maybe he has cancer wouldn't even cross your mind. Yet every day that goes by it becomes increasingly obvious to me.

"Damn, you sound..."

"Bad," he finished for me, "Hurts to speak. So tired."

"Hey, that's okay, you need me to get you something to eat?"

He shakes his head, "Swallowing hurts."

"Alright, you just want to sit down? We could watch some dumb Jewish fairy tales if you want."

He smiled slightly, "Where are they?"

"Uh... where is who?"

"The lesbians."

"Oh, oh, right! Snoop's upstairs in your room, she's been bummed out ever since you've been gone. Schnappi's in the kitchen."

"Yay," he said, his voice for the most part monotone, but he looked happy, and at that moment that was all that mattered.

My promise to watch stupid Jewish fairy tales stayed true. Jeremy got close to falling asleep every two minutes, and I'd heavily encourage him to go to sleep, but he denied it every single time, saying that he'd stay awake just fine, only to fall half-asleep in the next two minutes.

"Jere, really, maybe you should go to bed."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Wanna spend time with you."

"We can spend time together tomorrow."

He stayed quiet for a moment before he started talking again: "I can tell you what Dr Charlotte said."

"I, uh... I don't think that's the best idea? Shouldn't you rest your voice?"

"No, no, it's fine, just hurts."

"But-"

"I'm getting neoadjuvant treatment."

"How do you... how do you pronounce that?"

"Beats me. Dr Charlotte had to teach me syllable by syllable," he laughed slightly, but you could tell it pained him, " _Fuck_ , that hurts."

"Jeremy, really, if it hurts so bad to talk then maybe you should just write down what you want to say."

"No! Wanna talk to you!"

"You don't-"

"Neoadjuvant treatment is when you get radiotherapy first so that the tumour shrinks and then, later on, you get a small surgery, it's easier for like... like... the... th-the doctors... and... and It's like..." he bit his lip,  _hard_ , " _God_ , my throat hurts."

"I'm so sorry."

He sniffed, "Not your fault. Just wanna talk to you," he leaned into me slightly, "Christine came to visit. Told her you and I are dating. She's happy."

"Wait? Christine came to visit? I thought you told me only family members were allowed to visit during those hours?"

"They are. Christine told the reception that I'm her brother. She came in, and she was Asian, and I was white, but the doctor didn't have the heart to point anything out."

"She's okay with us dating?"

"Yeah. Don't wanna tell Rich yet. He's still angry and stuff."

"Understandably."

He made a denying noise, "Nooo, stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Being all... being all self-deprecating and stuff. I love you. Stop with that whole you're not good enough shit. It's dumb."

I couldn't help but laugh, "Where's this coming from?"

"You don't like it when I call myself mean things so you can't call yourself mean things either, you  _hungry, hungry_  hypocrite."

"I appreciate the sentiment."

"You better! You're amazing, and nice, and pretty, and you... you beat that one Super Mario Maker level I had trouble with in three tries and you... you have like cool eyes and... and, and... and stuff.. and your... I'm..." he sighed, "I'm sleepy."

"Yeah, I can tell."

"Can you... can you tell Jake?"

"Tell Jake what?"

"Tell Jake we're dating."

"I... you want me to...? Jeremy."

"Hm?"

"I don't think Jake wants to hear that from me. I feel like he'd rather hear that from you."

"Noooo," he protested, "C'mon, please? I don't wanna."

"But—"

"Don't make like... a big deal out of it or anything, just say like... just tell him... just... like... say some... just say some dumb shit..."

"Wow, that really helps."

Jeremy murmured something uninterested back.

I sighed, "Well, go to sleep then."

"No, you have to tell Jake first!"

"What, you mean  _now_?"

"Yeah."

"Well if you're here, can't you just tell him?"

"Pretend I'm not here."

I rolled my eyes, "Jeremy, please."

"If he starts being mean to you I'll come in and save you and stuff, don't worry," he gave me this stupid smile that I really tried to be angry at but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

"Wow, my hero," I deadpanned.

"I am the best..." Jeremy mumbled, falling back into a state of being half-asleep.

I sighed, making sure that it was loud enough for Jeremy to hear. I looked down at Jake's contact and my thumb hovering over it.

It's now or never.

 


	32. I Have Gained An Ally But Also Made A Semi-Enemy

  One ring.

 

  Two rings.

 

  Three rings.

 

  He picks up.

 

  "Hello, Jake Dillinger speaking, who is this?"

 

  My mouth keeps shut. I can't bring myself to speak. I look over to Jeremy and he sends a lazy thumbs up in my direction. Jeremy. Okay, Michael, just remember who you're doing this for.

 

  "Hey, uh, J... Jake! It's... uhm, y'know... uh... Michael," I say, in such an incredibly awkward way that I instantly felt the need to tear my skin off after saying it. I'm usually really good at talking to people, and now all of a sudden when I'm talking to the person who has pledged their life to protecting Jeremy and that I am trying desperately to impress, I can't even formulate a sentence properly.

 

  "Oh! Michael!" There was a short silence, "What's... what's up?"

 

"Nothing much, you?"

 

"You're calling me about Jeremy?"

 

  I freeze for a second, thinking of what to say, "Uh, do you know like, that Jeremy and I got... we made up? We're like... okay again. And stuff."

 

  "Oh!" he says again, "Uh, that's neat. Uhm... he... he forgave you for like... all that?"

 

  "Surprisingly," I snort, and Jeremy very audibly slaps me on the arm, "I mean, uh. yeah. Yeah, he did."

 

  "You guys bros again?"

 

  "Yeah."

 

"Uh, sorry for like... telling him all that stuff. We just wanted to make sure that Jeremy wasn't getting himself into an abusive friendship or anything, y'know dude? You get it, right?"

 

No. I don't. I really don't. "I mean, yeah, but come to me first next time before you start telling him stuff like that, please. I'm just glad this didn't escalate, y'know?"

 

  "Damn, okay, as long as Jeremy's okay with you again then I forgive you too. Even though like, you fricked up and stuff."

 

  "We are seventeen, Jake, you can say fuck."

 

  "You frickled it up, my guy."

 

  I can't help but laugh as the tension in the room dissipates, "Uh, anyways! I didn't come to ask you for like, forgiveness or anything, Jeremy told me to tell you something."

 

  "Why can't Jeremy just tell me?"

 

  "I don't know. He's completely sleep-deprived and delusional right now, God knows what's going through his head," I look down at Jeremy and he's staring into space, completely oblivious to the fact that I am badmouthing him right in front of him, "You just have to promise not to tell Rich."

 

  "Oh, uh, M-Michael, actually—"

 

  "Jeremy and I are dating."

 

There's a silence on the other side of the call. Then I hear a voice which is definitely not Jake's. "I'm sorry you guys are what?"

 

That was Rich's voice.

 

  I can actually hear Jake push Rich out of the way with a large THUMP. Jake speaks up hurriedly: "Crap, Michael, sorry, I should've told you Rich was in the room—"

 

  "I, uh, uhm, uh, no! It's fine! Uh, d-don't worry about it Jake—" I start panicking and Jeremy seems to panic slightly as well by the way his leg is jumping up and down, but somehow his bright idea was to stay silent anyway.

 

  I heard some muffled muttering from the other side and then Jake speaks up, "Anyways, Michael, I think it's great that you and Jeremy are da—"

 

  "It is not great, Jake, give me the phone."

 

  I hear Jake sigh, "Okay, sorry dude. Michael, I'm sure you guys can make up, Rich, stay civil."

 

I look over at Jeremy and he seems in between indifferent and mildly panicked. I very audibly gulp and put the phone on speaker, "Uh, hey... hey Rich."

 

"Is Jeremy there?" he asks.

 

I look at Jeremy and he frantically shakes his head, I respond: "Yeah, he's here." Jeremy sends me the universal look of 'what the fuck!!!!!!'

 

  "Can I please talk to him?"

 

I hand the phone over to Jeremy immediately and he very tiredly holds it for a moment, staring into space for a solid five seconds before realizing he needs to actually talk: "Oh. Uhm. Hi Rich."

 

"Jeremy, is everything okay? Your voice sounds really scratchy?"

 

"I'm... 'Is fine..."

 

"Are you sure? Does Michael have something to do with it? God, what did that bastard do—"

 

Jeremy shakes his head before realizing that Rich couldn't see him. He spoke up hoarsely: "No, Michael didn't... he didn't do anything."

 

"Why did you forgive Michael just like that? I told you he wasn't good for you."

 

"But... he like... he makes me happy an' stuff," Jeremy mumbles, "Really tired."

 

  "Why? Is everything okay?" Rich's voice seems impossibly soft, which was such a stark contrast to when he was yelling at me earlier. Damn, this guy really cares about Jere, doesn't he?

 

  Jeremy sniffs, "Throat kinda hurts. Not fun to talk. Radiotherapy," he whispers, "Michael's takin' care of me. I'm fine."

 

  "Jeremy. I want you to tell me your complete and honest opinion on Michael. Take it off speaker. You can tell me anything. If he's not treating you right then tell me now."

 

  "No, he's good and stuff," he flinched soundlessly again because of his sore throat, "I... it kinda hurts to speak right now. I can send you texts and stuff about it. Promise that he's cool. I really really like him. I want you two to get along an' stuff."

 

"Okay, text me as soon as possible, okay? Rest your voice."

 

Jeremy sniffs and takes a moment to register what Rich said, "Wh-wha... Oh! Uhm, y-yeah. Thanks... thank you Rich."

 

Rich hangs up.

 

Jeremy sighs as he sits up and pulls his knees to his chest, "Can you go grab my..." he grits his teeth as the grip around his own wrist tightens at the feeling of searing pain shooting through his throat, "My... My phone?" He croaks out.

 

"Yeah, yeah, of course! I'll go get it real quick, okay?"

 

I walk over to the wardrobe and grab his phone. When I turn around I take a minute to just look at Jeremy. He is one hundred percent half asleep and one hundred percent incapable of defending me in any kind of way, but I have some (kinda, sorta, not really) faith in him.

 

I throw the phone over to him and his reaction time is delayed by maybe three seconds.

 

"So, what are you gonna tell him?"

 

"I dunno. Tell him that I love you."

 

"I don't think that's going to work."

 

"Well, I'm—" he freezes for a moment and the grip around his own wrist tightens as the searing pain of his sore throat shoots up his body, "Shit, why?"

 

"It's okay, don't worry, you're going to go to sleep any second now and then you won't have to worry about that shit."

 

Jeremy sniffs and laughs dryly, "Thanks, ahavah."

 

"You can really just go to—"

 

"No! Have to talk to Rich first! Gotta convince him that... convince him that..." he trails off.

 

"Convince him of what?"

 

"Convince him that you're cute, obviously! What else would I say?"

 

"You loser, stop calling me cute."

 

"You hate me because I speak the truth."

 

"Actually, in fact, I love you."

 

"See? Look? Cute."

 

"You're cuter."

 

"Impossible!"

 

"Your friend thinks I'm an abusive jackass, I really think we have more important things to discuss here," I sit next to him and lean over his shoulder to see he's open on Rich's contact.

 

"I got nothing, though."

 

"What if we... Couldn't we... couldn't we hang out with Rich at like a takeout place or something? Then after hanging out with me for more than four seconds and actually interacting with me like a normal human being he'd realize that I don't want you dead?"

 

"I mean... yeah! Yeah, that could work," Jeremy smiles to himself sleepily, texting out a quick message devoid of capitalization and littered with misspellings, "Which day?"

 

"Friday next week?"

 

"I have radiotherapy, dumb ass."

 

"Saturday next week?"

 

"Alright," Jeremy adds another even worse message which is so atrociously misspelled that it would be a miracle if Rich could even understand it, "I'm so tired."

 

"I can tell."

 

"I'm gonna do what all those like... cheesy romcom movies do and I'm gonna like... lean into you and stuff... and then we can fall asleep and we'll be like... hopeless romantics and... we'll be Super High School Level losers..." Jeremy loses his train of thought as he rests his head on my shoulder before throwing his phone across the room.

 

"I'd be okay with that.'

 

"I'm... trust me, Michael... Rich is gonna... he'll love you..."

 

"God, I hope so."


	33. Here Come A Feeling I Thought I’d Forgotten

It felt like an attack.

 

Bright lights from left and right and up and down burning into your skin. The smell of Listerine radiated so strongly in the air that at times it felt like you could taste it. You could hear it drip out of the bottle and burn your throat.

 

I hate how homely it felt. I hate how common the feeling was.

 

Something wasn't right.

 

Something wasn't right.

 

Something wasn't right.

 

Just speak, Michael. Just ask her. Just say it.

 

I stand at the reception in complete silence as the lady looks at me patiently.

 

His room number. Give her his room number.

 

"It's two hundred and seventeen."

 

She nods sympathetically, "Mr Heere's room is just down the—"

 

"I know where it is."

 

  Second-nature. It's second-nature. Ingrained into my system. You take a left at the endocrinologist's office, take two rights and when you hear the low hum of despair that the radiotherapy machines emit you know you're there. You know you've made it.

 

  Am I ready to see him? No.

 

  He's dead, isn't he?

 

  He's fucking dead. He's dead. I know he is. I know he's dead. Why wouldn't he be? Why wouldn't he be dead? I saw him. What's the point of knocking on the door if the only thing you'll see when the nurse opens is a dead rotting corpse? What's the point of turning the knob if the only thing I fear is the inevitable?

 

  Yet I still knock.

 

  Yet I still turn the knob.

 

  And for a moment I refuse to look. I don't dare to. I'm not ready to face the truth. I'm not ready to see him in the new found state that he's in. I'm not read to see him in any state where he isn't breathing.

 

  Yet I still look.

 

And he's alive.

 

And he's alive.

 

And he's alive.

 

No, no, no. Impossible.

 

I saw him in the stars last night. I swear I saw him.

 

He's nothing. He's nothing to me. It shouldn't affect me so much. He's just a skeleton with a beating heart that has stars in his eyes. He should not be fucking me up this much.

 

"Michael?"

 

Stars don't talk. They don't.

 

"Michael?"

 

Stars don't repeat themselves. This isn't real.

 

"Michael, what's wrong?"

 

Stars aren't concerned for other people's well being. Stars don't give a shit about me. They don't care if I go on breathing.

 

"Michael, you're scaring me."

 

Stars don't feel fear. They don't, they don't, they, don't—

 

"Michael, listen to me," He has my hands in a death grip. A very real grip. A grip I can feel and see and hear and—

 

"Jeremy."

 

"Are you okay? What's going on? Why are you here? It's Tuesday. My radiotherapy doesn't end until Friday."

 

"You're... you're dead."

 

Jeremy raises an eyebrow, "I am not."

 

"No. No, no, no. I could've sworn, I could've—I saw you."

 

"Michael..." he said gently, rubbing a finger over my knuckles consciously, "Did you have a dream?"

 

"I..." I shake my head frantically and rip my hands out of his grip, "No. No, no, it was real, I saw you and you were... and you were..."

 

"I was dead?"

 

I feel something wet brim my eyes, and as soon as the first tear breaks loose, it all follows in an unbroken stream. My throat burns and the sobs keep coming and I can't fucking stop them and I never cry, I never cry, I never fucking cry, not in front of Jeremy, not in front of him—

 

"I-I'm so... I'm so fucking sorry," I let in a sharp inhale that felt like a knife scraping up my throat, "I'm fucked in the head, I don't know what's wrong with me." My voice sounded wet, and hoarse. Hoarse like Jeremy's does. Except I don't have cancer.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, ahavah, please don't be sad, there's nothing wrong with you, I promise, you're just—"

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"Me?"

 

"You."

 

"Well, uh, I-I'm okay. I feel a lot better. This radiotherapy is really helping me, I promise, I'm never going to die. Never, okay? If anything, I'll outlive you."

 

Something about that makes me laugh. A cold, wet, ugly laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, "God, I hope so."

 

"I'm sorry that you're uh..." Jeremy thinks of how to phrase his sentence, "experiencing... this. I didn't know that... uh... me being gone was like... causing you... pain?"

 

"I'm losing it," I joke, but it's the truth, "I don't know. I'm taking care of your cats and they're like the only evidence I have of you being alive when I'm home alone. I can't go a day without thinking that maybe something went wrong at the hospital while I wasn't there. I don't know. I'm losing my mind."

 

"You numpty! I'm your lock screen! There are pictures of me with my dad all around the house! You can just call me after 8PM! You have plenty of proof that I'm alive!"

 

I sniff, "I know, I know, I'm just being... silly... I don't know. I just... I miss you."

 

"I'm not going anywhere."

 

"What if you fall in love with a cute nurse here? What if he has rocking hard abs? I don't have rocking hard abs."

 

"I like you that way."

 

"What if the nurse is like eight foot tall? I know tall's your type. What if he's like fifteen feet tall? What if that made you swoon? I'd lose you."

 

"Michael, you're six foot, that's already ridiculously tall! If he was fifteen feet tall he'd have some kind of health issue. I prefer my boys fully functioning and human-looking."

 

"I'm not that human-looking. I kinda look like a rat, don't you think? I mean, I'm gorgeous, but I'm kinda ratty too? I don't know. Jake said I kinda looked like a rat if you looked at the right angle and now I can't stop thinking about it—"

 

"Damn, I'm the one with the anxiety disorder and you're somehow more paranoid than I am."

 

"Don't bully me! I'm just worried, okay? We're going to have that whole hangout with Rich Saturday and I'm just scared he won't like me. Then we can't date and I'll be sad because you're like really really cute and not being able to date you would be a travesty."

 

"Michael, Rich isn't my dad. If he doesn't like you I don't care. I'll date you anyway."

 

"Well, I..." I hesitate, "I guess you're right, but..."

 

Jeremy's looking up at me with this goofy smile that makes me freeze.

 

  Everything this boy does has me moonstruck. He's effulgent. With his bubbly personality and his blossom soft lips and his everything.

 

  My brain coped with his absence by dreaming about him.

 

  Dreams, dreams, dreams. Good and bad.

 

  Dreams where he dies, dreams where we kiss, dreams where he's cured.

 

  Yet my dreams didn't do him any justice. He was a warm, hazy-gold kind of beautiful. He was astral. He looked like the sunshine shone down on him and there it stayed, never leaving, embedding itself into his skin.

 

Jeremy lets out a giggle out of nowhere, "If you're going to kiss me then you're taking an awfully long time to do so."

 

  And so I pulled him in.

 

And I kissed him,

 

And I kissed him,

 

And I kissed him,

 

Until I lost all my breath,

 

Until I had no more love left to give,

 

Until all the world disappeared.


	34. Deutsch Ist Eine Sexy Sprache

  "Do you think that I should learn German?"

  It takes me aback for a moment. That's kind of out of nowhere isn't it?

  Jeremy was being incredibly talkative. He's taking a week long break from radiotherapy, which Dr Charlotte said was to  _'rest the cells.'_ His voice was still a tiny bit croaky, but he could speak without it hurting much, and he was definitely making the most of that. He insisted on making both of us cereal, so I just sat awkwardly at the dining table waiting for him to finish, but Jeremy's physically incapable of multitasking, so this cereal so far has taken thirty minutes at least.

  Now, back to his unprompted question: Should he learn German? "I mean, if you want to—"

  "Or maybe Spanish. Or French. Oh, what about Yiddish? Hebrew's my native language so maybe that'll make Yiddish easier to learn, right? Isn't Afrikaans pretty easy too? What about, uh..."

  "Why do you want to learn a language all of a sudden?"

  "Well, uh. Y'know," he scratches his neck awkwardly, "Like, y'know.. aren't guys that can speak German like sexy or something? Like if I spoke German would you think I was hot?"

  "German is quite possibly the least sexy language in the world," I say, "And c'mon. Hebrew's a fine language. It's soft and gentle, it fits you! German is kinda brash, don't you think?"

  "You just insulted an entire country, Michael!" He shoves the milk back in the fridge, "I don't know, I just... I want to speak three languages. I don't know why. I just want to."

  "So you want to learn German?"

  "No, no, too many articles," he pouts, getting the spoons from a cabinet, which, knowing this family, it was probably called the spoon cabinet, "What about Afrikaans? Afrikaans only has one article and that's ' _die'_  and I can live with that. And it has Germanic roots. What about Afrikaans, what do you think of that?"

  "You can seriously do whatever you want."

  "No, I want your input, c'mon."

  "Sounds great, Jerm, but we live thousands of miles away from South Africa. The chance that you'll find an Afrikaans class or any native Afrikaans speakers here is pretty slim."

  "Doesn't matter, it has one article and that's all I care about," he finally starts actually physically pouring the cereal, "And I already know like... a little bit. Like... uh... 'Ek is lief vir jou!' That means I love you! My pronunciation is kinda fucked, but we'll work on it, right?"

  Jeremy places both of the cereal bowls on the dining table, and there's some unresolved tension in the air. It's unlike Jeremy to be so spontaneous like that, to just randomly decide an entirely new hobby out of nowhere. And he knows that  _I_ know something isn't right. I can tell by how every now and then he glances at my facial expression, almost as if he's monitoring my reaction.

  We stay quiet for a moment.

  "Jeremy, what's the  _real_ reason you want to learn a language?"

  "I don't want to die knowing only two languages."

  I roll my eyes, "There it is again."

  "Don't roll your eyes at me like that! You... you  _know_ this is hard for me, and, and—" he sighs, "I just want to... I want to make sure I make the most of my life, y'know?" he mumbles, "What if I die knowing only two languages? I don't have any talents either. I can't draw, I can't dance, I can't write, I don't do great academically no matter  _how_ hard I try, I can play some piano, but barely, and the only reason I know piano is because I'm Jewish, what if I die knowing absolutely  _nothing?_ Can you imagine that? Raising a child only for them to accomplish nothing? God, my dad probably hates me—"

  "I get it, but you're not going to die. Jeremy, your radiotherapy's almost done, and after that you'll have neoadjuvant treatment, you'll be okay."

  "I-I  _know,_ but... I don't know. It's like Schrödigner's cat. I either die or I live, and I need to plan for both outcomes."

  "I think you're being paranoid."

  "Well, that's easy for you to say. It's not like you're the one with—one with  _cancer,"_ he sucks the air through his teeth, "My voice being kinda croaky and my throat being sore doesn't bother me, it's just... I don't know, I feel like I can feel my body just deteriorating."

  I breathe out and try to assess the situation. Jeremy's right. I don't have cancer. But I have common sense. And that common sense is telling me that Jeremy's going to be okay. that Jeremy's going to be happy, that Jeremy's going to grow old, that Jeremy's going to have lots and lots of time to learn new languages, that I'll have Jeremy in my arms for as long as I live, that I'll—

  But I don't have anxiety.

  And I think that what Jeremy's anxiety is telling him is polar opposite to what my common sense is hinting at.

  I inch my hand over to his, and I momentarily rub my thumb over his knuckles in silence.

  We stay like that for a while.

  "I'm sorry. I feel like we can't have a conversation without me shoehorning death in there somewhere. I... I even said myself I didn't want to feel bad for myself, but... just look at me now," he laughs tearily. "I don't know. I'm not... I wasn't all there. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore."

  "It's okay."

  "I'm just really stupid. It must be a chore to just even talk to me. I don't know why you put up with me."

  "It's okay."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay."

  He sighs and leans back in his chair slightly, hiding his face behind his hands.

  "It really is okay."

  "No. No, it isn't." He removes his hands, stands up, and pushes his chair in, "It's not fair that you have to put up with my whining and my self-pity over something you can't control. You shouldn't have to... you shouldn't have to put up with me like that, Michael."

  "Jeremy, really, I don't mind. You're practically legally obligated to complain, you have cancer, it's okay. I don't mind. I really do love you."

  "Are you... are you sure? B-because, like, I don't want you to feel... to feel... trapped?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't want you to feel trapped in this relationship at all, like, if you don't want to date me anymore, I really get it!" he sends me a shaky smile, "I don't mean that in like a... a self-deprecating way or anything, I just, uhm..."

  "Jeremy, I love you."

  "Are... are you sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  "I... okay..." he bites his lip, "Okay! I, uh, I really love you too. I'm sorry for getting so paranoid all the time. It must be getting pretty old at this point," he laughs a bit.

  "I'll never get tired of you, promise," I push in my chair next to his, walk over to him, and hold my hands out. "Hug?"

  His arms snake around my neck and he buries his head in my shoulder. I rest my hands on his hips and subtly sway him side to side, "It's okay."

  "I know it is."

  "I love you."

  He sighs, "I know you do, but... but you don't have to. No one's forcing you to."

  "But I want to. I care about you."

  "Isn't that a waste of time?"

  "Not to me. Not if it's you."

  "Promise?"

  "Promise."

  "Hey Michael?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I love you too."


	35. Oh Gott, Oh Verdammt, Warum Muss Ich Auf Dieser Erde Leben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw ; theres a suicide joke but it's only like one sentence. also jeremy says a homophobic slur but he says it as a joke so??? idk if you're easily put off by that then please be careful lov ya <3<3<3<3<3

Jeremy's cat, Schnappi, is not only a Nazi, but she is also an expert at vomiting everywhere.

I'm supposed to meet Rich tomorrow at Burrata, and I've mentally wrote out a little dialogue in my brain which I've slowly memorized by repeating it to myself every second of every day while I desperately try and get Schnappi to stop throwing up on me.

It's not that hard. It can't be that hard.

I just need to prove to him that I'm not abusive, which sounds like an easy feat. I mean, I'm not abusive, right? So if I show up and act like myself then there's no way I'd leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Then my mind started wandering.

I mean, Jeremy flinches a lot, doesn't he? What if I make some kind of wild hand movement and Jeremy flinches, ultimately causing Rich to realize that I'm an abusive jackass, and that a restraining order with no expiration date needs to be signed A.S.A.P.

Unfortunately I have bigger fish to fry than my boyfriend's friend thinking that I'm a non-white gay Christian Grey.

While I've had the chance to monologue to you about all my worries, Schnappi has been frantically vomiting all over the carpet while I desperately try and shove anti-emetic pills down her throat.

How does Jeremy do this? He makes it look so easy. He gave me a quick demonstration on how to get the pill in her mouth, and Schnappi was a literal angel who had descended from the heavens, swallowing the pill without even the mildest bit of vomit.

However, when I try to get her to swallow it, it's like World War II, which Schnappi very obviously fought in. You'd think that if she was so obviously a Nazi she'd hate Jeremy, but somehow she seems to hate me.

Vomiting is normal though. Jeremy thoroughly warned me about it. Schnappi was being unusual in other ways, though.

She's getting very skinny. So skinny that I can feel her ribs when I pet her sometimes. If something happens to Jeremy's cat while she's under my care, he will never forgive me. He will file the divorce papers faster than I'll be able to shove a pill down Schnappi's throat.

So, naturally, I went to my most reliable source.

"Okay, so you're like, good with cats, right?"

She cocks an eyebrow up, "Uh... no? Not even a little bit? I'm good with dogs."

"Christine,  _please_ ," I beg, "If this cat isn't happy and healthy by the time Jeremy comes back our marriage will fall apart. Save my marriage, Christine."

"She looks fine."

"She's been drinking way too much water! Like a dangerous amount. And look how skinny she's getting!"

Christine scoots over to her and puts a hand at either side of Schnappi's face, looking her in the eyes, "She looks fi— Oh  _Jesus Christ."_

"What? What's wrong?"

"Her breath smells awful."

"Well, yeah, she has been vomiting a lot."

"Has she been eating enough?"

"I keep giving her food, but she won't eat it."

Christine eyes widen and she assesses the situation, "Michael, you have to take her to the vet. Like as soon as possible."

"What? Why? What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know, dude. It's just a hunch, but that's the kind of symptoms my childhood dog was showing before he died of kidney failure."

"What the fuck! Dude! If I tell Jeremy his cat is at the vet because she has some kind of rapid kidney disease he's going to find a bridge and jump off of it. He'll tell the nurse to pull the plug. He'll tie a noo—"

"Jeremy seriously won't care if you take Schnappi to the vet, if anything, he'll find it considerate. However, he  _will_  care if his cat dies of kidney failure."

"Should I tell Jeremy?"

"I mean... uh... I wouldn't personally. Keep quiet about it. But if he asks where Schnappi is, don't lie. Just tell him she's at the vet. He'll understand."

  "Okay, thanks for the advice, Chris. It really means a lot to me."  
    
  "Hey, if you want, I can even drive Schnappi to the vet. I have to take Tupperware anyway, I have to renew his vaccines."

  "Christine, I would die for you."

  "Awh, thanks Micha—"

  "Not only would I, but I  _will._ I am actively going to go die for you. I'm going to stand in a busy street with a picture of you taped to my chest and beg people to run me over."

  "Please don't do—"

  "I'm gay and all but like I'm totally in love with you. You're the best person alive. I don't deserve you. You truly are a blessing..."

  After death-threating myself a handful of times while Christine frantically disagrees, she left to go take care of her own little animal (Tupperware) while I needlessly worried about  _both_ of my animals (Jeremy and Schnappi.).

  Knowing Schnappi's past health complications, I knew that Jeremy was probably a regular at the vet. I don't know how I'd feel about the receptionist telling me all sorts of horror stories of surgeries and medications Schnappi has had to go through. At least that's Christine's problem now.

  I get a text and my mind immediately goes to Christine. The text probably says ' _hey went to go take schnappi to the vet sorry shes dead lol!! xoxoxo'_

  It actually ended up being a text from Jeremy, which sounded highly illegal to me. He's supposed to be having his radiotherapy right now.

   ** _jeremy <3:_** _are you worrying about the whole thing we have w/ rich tomorrow :((_

**_me:_ ** _actually! fun fact! worrying is for losers_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _u r a massive loser idiot_

**_me:_ ** _wow ouch kinda considering breaking up with you right now...._

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _do it pussy_

  
**_me:_ ** _i'll break up with u next time we see each other, it's rude to do it over text <3<3_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _always so considerate <3_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _also what a way to avoid the question asshole_

**_me:_ ** _i pride myself on avoiding questions don't take my talent away from me_

  
**_me:_ ** _shsl question avoider_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _shsl dicklord_

**_me:_ ** _lord of the dicks is an excellent title to have_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _god shut the fuck up i hope you never talk ever again everything you say is so fucking horrible you could die tonight and i would feel so very little_

**_me:_ ** _that was sexy_

**_me:_ ** _im screenshotting that and then quoting it in my wedding vows_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _answer my question faggot_

**_me:_ ** _i've never made a mistake in my life i am the epitome of perfection_  
_why would i ever worry about something so trivial_  
_jeremiah william heere no wonder the orphanage didn't_  
_fucking take you back_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _valid_

**_me:_ ** _ur the most useless person i've ever met so im guessing ur worrying a lot_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _yeehaw_

**_me:_ ** _yell heah go off_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _dead meme_

**_me:_ ** _coward_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _love you.... <3<3_

**_me:_ ** _love you too dumbed ass <3<3<3<3_

Okay, at least I'm not the only one who's worried, right? I mean, maybe the answer "yeehaw" didn't  _exactly_  mean 'yes' but I'm assuming it did.

  I go over my little mental dialogue one more time before getting the sudden urge to swallow a bowling ball. It's fine. I mean, what can Rich possibly hold against me? It's not like I'm intimidating or anything. The most intimidating thing about me is that I'm a bit tall, which cancels out because I'm absolutely shaped like a friend.

  I guess it's less about impressing Rich and more about impressing Jeremy. I don't want to come off as if I have a superiority complex, but I don't want to come off as shy either. I don't want to be uninteresting, but I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard, which I've already failed, because I think literally writing a script just to talk to someone is the literal definition of "trying too hard."

  Jeremy himself even said that if Rich doesn't like me, then he'll date me anyway. So why am I worrying so much? I know I'm being irrational, but there's just this constant lingering feeling that Jeremy deserves the best and I just can't deliver on that. There are days where I don't feel like being funny and happy and entertaining and I know Jeremy doesn't judge me for it, because he has days like that too, but somehow it still freaks me out.

  I was so incredibly sure that I deserved Jeremy, that I was enough for him, and now a bit further down the road I begin to doubt myself. That maybe Jeremy thinks I talk too much, or maybe I text him too much, and deep down I know that Jeremy likes it when I talk, that Jeremy likes it when I text him, but it still unsettles me.

  And I don't have anxiety. I know I don't. I'm just such an  _irrational_  person.

**_me:_ ** _hey jeremy can we talk for a second_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _real shit???_

**_me:_ ** _real shit_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _serious michael is so rare im kinda scared_

**_me:_ ** _no i just wanna seriously tell you that i love you_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _i love you too!!_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _can't wait to see you saturday!!!_  
  
**_me:_ ** _okay just wanted to make sure!_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _make sure that i lov u??? DUMBASS i'll always love you believe it or not stop doubting yourself stupid_

**_me:_ ** _sorry bitch_

**_jeremy <3: _ ** _its ok cuck i forgive you_

**_m_ ** **_e: <3<3<3_ **

**_jeremy <3: <3<3<3_ **

 


	36. Google Translate's Website Is Down, The German Titles Were Fun While They Lasted

**i suck at updating i have no excuse im just bad. school is kicking my ass right now so sorry anyways love you guys y'all are super super cute <3<3<3**

I can't do this.

I can't do this.

I can't do this.

"C'mon, you can do it!" Jeremy assures me, "It's just talking. That's all. You're good at that!"

"Talking to Rich isn't  _just_  talking, he's... like... he's scary! And capable of judo-flipping me! Would you trust a man who was capable of judo-flipping you?"

"You could probably judo-flip me, and I trust you wholeheartedly."

"You overestimate me."

Jeremy rolls his eyes, "Michael, it's fifteen minutes of you sitting down, talking, and then you never have to see his face again. Like never ever. You'll never hear the name Rich Goranski ever again."

Never having to hear the name Rich Government ever again was a nice thought, but it made me nervous anyway.

"Just get it over with, alright?" Jeremy sends me a reassuring smile. He hurriedly brushes the hair out of my face, frantically looks around to make sure no one was looking, and gives me a quick peck on the lips. "Love you, okay?"

"Jeremy, you know you don't have to check if people are around, we're both out."

"I-I don't know! We're in New Jersey, what if we get shot or something?"

"It isn't 1950, I'm sure we'll be fine."

Jeremy breaths out shakily and nods somewhat frantically, "Yeah, yeah, okay, you're right."

"Are you okay? You seem a little shaken up."

"You didn't... you didn't say 'I love you' back."

I roll my eyes, fake-irritated, but I couldn't help but smile, "I love you too, now go with Chris to the hospital, okay? I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

He nods, but he stays there for a while, just looking at me. He catches his breath for a moment before tensing slightly, and turning around curtly.

The restaurant that Rich and I agreed on probably wasn't the  _most_ efficient choice. It was more well known for take-outs and delivery than it is for actually sitting down and eating. Because of this, it was relatively small, and cramped. You could eavesdrop without even trying, which definitely was not a good thing, considering the negative opinions Rich have about me.

Not just that, but considering how cramped it was, people talked really loud in order to hear each other speak, which made trying to listen to someone tell you something important near impossible.

I see Rich sitting at one of the tables, and decide that going inside is probably the worst possible idea. I want Rich to have a good first impression of me, right?

...Well, I mean, that opportunity is already ruined. I guess my first impression was when we were 10, and that was him hopelessly trying to explain to me what being gay meant. If he put up with that back then, maybe that means he'll be even more tolerant now.

Or maybe he had a bad experience with a Chipotle waiter who looks remarkably like me, causing him to have a bias against anyone even remotely resembling said Chipotle waiter.

Nevertheless, I persisted. I walk into the restaurant, causing the little bell above the door to ring, while ultimately made Rich's eyes dart towards me. Not ideal.

He gives me a quick  _bro_ nod. Fuck, I'm gay, how does he expect me to know how to do the  _bro_ nod? Christine, the SHSL lesbian, tried to teach me how to do the  _bro_ nod for a while, and I was never able to pull it off. I try to remember what I learned.

I tilt my head upwards a tiny bit, but instead of it being the legendary  _bro_ nod, it comes out as some kind of desperate attempt to swallow the thousand of bees I've been gargling in my throat for the past seventeen years.

I speed-walk over to his table, incredibly awkwardly, I might add.

When I sit down, I just realize how incredibly sweaty I am. I could stop Cape Town's drought with all the water I am producing. The thought of being very sweaty in front of this guy who I am legally obligated to impress made me feel embarrassed, so that made my face turn red. I realize how embarrassing it was to have a red face in front of this super cool macho guy, so I started bouncing my leg up and down.

If you decided to skip over that paragraph because of the unnecessary chunk of text that it was (I don't blame you) then here's the TL;DR: I was a mess.

"So, Michael," he draws out the 'o' in  _So_  for a short while.

"Hey. Rich. Uh."

"So, cut to the chase," he folds his arms and uses a sickening tone, which definitely almost made me shit my pants, "I want to hear excuses, and if I don't hear any excuses, I want to hear some apologies."

"I'm sorry."

We both stay quiet for a moment.

Rich rolls his eyes, "Is that it?"

"Well, I mean, uh..." I swallow thickly, "I'm really really sorry, for, uh, everything I did in the past. 13-year-old me was... was a huge asshole. I'm sorry for being like... for lashing out sometimes. I'm sorry for being all uncool in the past. I promise I'm like... less uncool now."

"Go on."

"I shouldn't have-" I immediately get distracted, "Is that... is that a Mortal Kombat tattoo on your wrist? I mean, uh, uhm, s-sorry, I meant-"

"What?" Rich says out of surprise, "I mean, well, uhh..." he hesitates, "Yes, it is."

"You like... you like... video games?"

"If you're trying to get sympathy points from me by desperately trying to find a common interest, then it's not going to work, Michael."

"N-No! I was just thinking... You don't really seem like the... the video game type, I guess? I mean... you are the way that you are, and uh, I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that! I just thought that --"

"Damn. You stumble over your words a lot, huh?"

"I don't, I really don't, I'm just nervous while talking to you. You could like... crush my skull in half," I joke, "I don't know. I just care about Jeremy a lot, like a lot a lot, and I don't know what I'd do if one of his closest friends didn't like me, so I get all stutter-y when I talk to you.

"Are you really so sure that you care about Jeremy? Your past actions don't really preach that message, do they, Michael?"

"I'm sorry."

He sighs understandingly, swiveling his finger around the glass that is pre-set on the tables, "I get it, dude. It's okay. I don't actually hate your guts or anything, you genuinely seem like a sweet guy, I just wanted to see how'd you react if you were challenged in some kind of way. Lots of people seem really nice and then get real vicious when someone else gets competitive with them, I just wanted to make sure that you were actually a good guy, y'know? And for the record, yes, I  _do_  like video games."

"Me too! I mean, uh, you didn't really comment on that whole 'You could break my skull' situation, so I was just wondering... could you--"

"Oh, absolutely! I crush skulls in my spare time! So you  _better_ watch your fucking back the next time you make Jeremy sad."

I freeze.

"Just kidding, kid. Lighten up. But seriously, don't upset Jeremy, I  _will_ do something, even if it isn't the fracturing of your skull. And it  _will_  cause permanent damage."

"What a light way of putting that you're going to make me suffer through genital mutilation."

"My specialty."

"Just, uh, y'know, for the record, I'm glad you're cool. Even if you did threaten to cut off my dick. I promise I won't like... make Jeremy sad or anything. I want to keep my dick and I want my skull in one piece."

Rich was about to comment on that, but I get cut off by the Whitney Houston's voice cutting through the air. For a second I think it's the blaring radio, but soon I realize it's coming from my pocket. Rich gives me a weird look, like he's Raven Baxter from That's So Raven, and he's just predicted a sour vision, where in the future I die in a tragic canoeing accident.

It's from Christine, who is at the hospital with Jeremy right now. She's probably calling me to ask where Rich and I are, and what're taking us so long. What I got instead was a lot of heavy breathing from the other side side of the phone.

"Hey Christine?"

"Michael, you need to come to the hospital right now."

"What? What's wrong?"

"It's around the corner, you can walk."

She sounded frantic, "What's wrong? Where's Jeremy? Is he okay?"

"Please come as soon as possible, we need you here ASAP-" she hangs up before finishing her sentence.

"Christine needs us to come to the hospital. Like, uh, right now. We should go," I say, already standing up.

Rich loses his That's So Raven glare, and instead an expression of concern dawns his face, "What? Why? What happened? Is it bad or good news?"

"It didn't sound good, but let's hope for the best. She hung up before she could tell me anything."

Rich nods sharply, reminiscent of the bro nod, but somehow more businessman-y than usual. How do you make the bro nod look professional? How did he do that? How is that even possible?

The route to the hospital is practically muscle memory at this point. I usually drive, rather than walk, but the checkpoints and beacons are all there.

You see the Subway, then you turn left, when you see the Pharmacy, you go down the roundabout, and then it's there.

Rich seemed just as auto-pilot as I was. It never really came to mind. Rich probably visits Jeremy a lot. Like a lot, a lot. Something about that made me instinctively smile. I'm glad this loser has a bunch of good friends behind him.

It takes a village to raise a child, and while Jeremy isn't necessarily a child, I certainly couldn't handle him all on my own. Not without Christine, Rich, Chloe and all them.

We reach the hospital and anxiously wait for the automatic doors to open. We seriously don't know what to expect.

We go to reception, give her Jeremy's room number, and wait while she checks for the availability of the space.

"Room two hundred and seventeen is empty."

"Empty? No, our friend is in there," Rich assures her.

"Who is your friend?"

"Jeremy Heere," Rich says, getting mildly irritated, "Jeremy William Heere."

"Oh? Jeremy? Agh, that poor kid," she sighs, "It happened to him while he was so young, too. Only seventeen."

'What? Why? What happened?" I frantically chip in, "Was? Past tense? What's going on? Where is he? Is he okay?"

"If you wanna see him, you'll have to go to the emergency room. Sorry for the tough times, you two. I hope you two young men have a speedy recovery. alright?"

_Fuck._


End file.
